Long weeks of work and weekends of play
Make diurnal souls tired by the end of the day.

As the last sunlight fades from the sky in the west
The main thing desired is a good night's rest.

Just as the children put down their toys,
Get tucked into bed, and stop making noise,

A new sound begins, beyond any before,
Which drills through the walls and vibrates the floor.

It's late in the summer; the evenings are hot.
The humans are sleepy, but the insects are not.

Much to the dismay of every guy and gal,
It's the katydid chorus and the cricket chorale.

They are joined by cicadas, augmented by frogs,
With toads chiming in, and even some dogs.

Then suddenly, all the din comes to a stop.
Tense muscles relax and tired eyelids drop.

Much longed for respite seems right at hand,
But that's not the plan of the insect band.

They might pause a bit, taking just a short break;
In a second or two, they'll make sure you're awake!

And so the songs go, for hours at a time,
Sometimes dull, mostly loud, with no rhythm or rhyme.

Then gradually, ever so slightly at first,
A diminishing volume spells the end of the worst.

And one by one, the bugs' songs subside,
They drop out of the choir and crawl off to hide.

Their symphony finally has run out of steam.
Oh heavenly silence, at last time to dream!

A few precious moments past the end of the singing,
The new day begins; the alarm clock is ringing!