It was the first time you called
Since the summer of 2008.
After we both hung up our phones
I sat back and thought to myself
About the way a little green frog
Leaps from lily pad to lily pad,
Indecisive on where he wants to sit.
In my mind I watched him go.
His last stop to rest was brief.
The lily pad seemed fitting enough
But across the pond looked so good
He had to give it a try.
He dove into the water
He stroked and kicked until
After seemingly endless work
He arrived to where he wanted to be.
This one was bigger, more room to rest.
But, O, how the violent sun beat down.
He spotted a rock, grown soft with moss
Over in the shade of the willow branches.
The little frog could do this for ever,
Never really knowing where he wants to be.
Meanwhile, my phone sits quietly on my desk
Having thoughts of it’s own.