He hears the cicadas grieving in the trees.
Their chirping grief in tune with his own.
Wife and three-month old child gone forever,
A raging house fire took them away.
His mind plagued with sorrow and guilt,
If only he’d been home instead of carousing,
A stable husband instead of a meandering one.
Maybe he could have saved them.
But what use of maybes now?
A thousand tears cannot wash away
The loss, the agony and the guilt.
Bob Boyd
