Those little creatures
With glue on their skin
Colour of the mint leaf before summers Goblin eyes, staring, meditating,
Wisely looking on the world.
Tirelessly squatting, waiting;
Webbed feet ready to spring,
Blithe bubbles of happiness Creating ripples in the puddles.
Where have the frogs gone?
Spring-soldiers; awake from slumber,
On the alarm of Earth’s eternal spin Uncovering, unmasking, exhaling.
Polliwogs metamorphose-all things change
Croaking for the flowers to blossom;
Croaking for the seedlings to sprout.
Croaking to welcome the showers.
Where have the frogs gone?
Mysterious messengers of Nature
Playful splashes of colour
Founts of tickling mischief-Filling their own busyness,
The little ones tentatively hopping,
The old- leaping slow and cautious.
Gone to the margins of lands;
Like pedestrians from the roads.
No complaint, no defiance, no noise.
Where have the frogs gone?
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