Poemas Crickets and Bug
CRICKETS
Crickets Talk
In the tall Grass All
Late summer Long.
When Summer Is gone,
The dry Grass
Whispers Alone.
Hey, bug, stay!
Hey, bug, stay!
Don't run away.
I know a game that we can play.
I'll hold my fingers very still
and you can climb a finger-hill.
No, no.
Don't go.
Here's a wall--a tower, too,
a tiny bug town, just for you.
I've a cookie. You have some.
Take this oatmeal cookie crumb.
Hey, bug, stay!
Hey, bug!
Hey!
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