Invisible Minstrels

Oft for these wee minstrels I yearn

From winter’s lusty fire

Tonight the lyricists return

To strum the hidden lyre

On lush and sultry summer-stage

A resonant vibration

Of choristers tune brush and sage

And sundry vegetation

In silver notes their anthems swell

Above the raven spire

Surely the starlit pinnacle

Exalts this humble choir

An obscure throng of summer-song

A comely dispensation

Of unfeigned praise; madrigal raised

To Author of creation

Oft for these wee minstrels I yearn

From winter’s frozen bowers

For harmony of green-leaf fern

And cricket-murmured hours

Tonight their salutation spills

In pure, fervent devotion

The cricket-song of summer fills

Deep midnight’s lambent ocean

© Janet Martin

Yes, they are back!