Oh 12 cent house cricket, that I just bought at the pet store, that just got out of the bag. You chirp such a happy song of freedom. You nestle into one of the wonderful hiding spaces. Is the yarn tonight? Perhaps a blanket or a pillow. Or no, maybe you'll try some dust fluff you find in a warm safe corner. Sing your happy song. Sing it and entertain us all for the night. We all understand your joy. We'll see you scurry to and fro in the days to come until soon, one morning, sadly we will find you in the shower. More than likely you will be limp and lifeless. Here is where you sang your last song. You found your last home moist and drank to your fill. What a trip you had, actually, really, it was an adventure. You never could have dreamed of the things you saw on your way. Oh you silly little house cricket.