Crescendo

See last pennants fall from bark clad masts

It is a withering of song to elicit the interval
Between the last movement of the summer
And the first act of winter; it is a crescendo
A buzz and rattle that precedes the great silence
Wasp queens beating wings in time to the cold
A world hungers for sound of the sun returning
As it shrinks away into the nadir of its orbit
And as the winter comes and sets us all to rest
The wasp queens still and settle into sleepy accord