Without pause the cicadas All six or sixty of them in unison sing If you heed, comrade, this sound Either you go mad or suffer a head-ache So think and understand This is the music of the forest.   The blowing wind cannot be blocked Eager to visit you, dragging darkness along It will pierce the hills, pass through trees Surround you and seep into the bone. If you huddle, you will only be teased The cold in the wilderness is no guest.   Do not bother to fight the bugs and mosquitoes Their army is entrenched in every nook and corner While you're on alert, one heads for your nape Humming, pricking at your drowsiness Even if you chase them away with smoke For a while they'll retreat and then charge again.   The sun rarely greets you Shyly peeping and smiling furtively. But here comes the eager rain The sun sulks, makes way The rain sees what should be watered. Let us study, comrade, the laws of the forest.   Let us recognize the rustlings There are sounds that approach and some that recede The sound of four feet running is different Different too are the footsteps of strangers. We have to study this forest more Know it like a trustworthy comrade.   (J.B.)