Frogs join the crickets
And the immortal ruckus
Of mortal hungers
Rackets these mild nights,
Loud beyond the racketing
Traffic and criss-crossing jets.
Mechanized transportations
Can’t match the transports of lust.
Life, I believe, will go on,
A conviction that some nights
Feels comforting, when the spring
Is in the desert marshes
And breezes are caresses,
Though what goes on is ruthless.
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