frogs croaking through the night even in cold
february so rustically loud
you feel immersed within a chanting crowd
and yet the sound itself does not grow old
the singers do not seem to be consoled
but croak majestically clear and proud
this is their world they won't be disallowed
by sleepy humans none of whom are bold
to say all this is merely to record
last night's concerto in the nearby pond
as one more sign of nature undismayed
by all we do for my part i just snored
dreamt of strange worlds and places far beyond
my normal life then woke to mundane trade