Residue of a storm, left behind and round.
A spa for those who croak.
Nature's water fountain for those too small to ask.
A vacation in rock. Minor invertebrate have a home.
More adding into; a ripple effect.
Bespattered by its surrounding walls, some clear instead.

A new stand laced up, a day to face.
A stride cut off by some plash, the sky!
Dark and your steps now dampened too deep.
Look at it this way, the earth had a laugh.
The best you can do is entertain it.

His proposal jumps

like a frog into the pond:


only a ripple.

A whole lot of lies swimming in a pond – ducking the truth; as I
threw a rock into the water, and it unfortunately croaked, to the
misery of those frogs. I watched as a young lady was kissing to
find her Prince charming; and I still don’t know if she ever
found him, because she had a frog in her throat.

Ah nature, with its crude nature – it laughs in the wind at night,
blowing branches as you try to sleep. And when crickets decide
to mate, is it the whole world that goes quiet as those insects?
And if it’s a game of love they play, I surely hope it isn’t ironically
like cricket – making a few runs of the person running on your
mind; while giving it all you can to have a ball with them. But
they only seem to bat an eyelid.

But aren’t you all sometimes hungry for love, like the sea that
hungers to conquer more land? Let’s erode these old cliffs, of our
own peaks, to be left with the bare essentials. And would you
mistake me as someone who falls in love with one’s essentials –
saying it with my chest; to bare one’s chest? Maybe my love isn’t
as wet, to water down those starved parts of your heart.
Darling, I’m just a small pond.

But wasn’t it a pond, where the Princess had found her love?

There must be rain and lots of rain,
Enough to fill the river Seine.
Till Mrs Frog and Mr Toad,
Will choose to risk the night again.

See, Mrs frog is kind of queer,
She sits the same spot most of year.
Amphibifun! An avid leaper,
But home again when daylight near.

Then Mr toad, a grumpy winner,
An eagle eyed reptilian sinner.
He hates the rain and lost a leg,
When something fancied him for dinner!.

But on that rare and lucky night,
When circumstance and weather right.
These loyal suitors meet at last,
As Cupid’s spell is at its height.

Five years have past, they’re still together,
Meeting frequent, sometimes never.
But neither gives up on the other,
Not storm, not tide, nor any weather.

What loyalty? What love? What deeds?,
Take place amongst those silent reeds.
Frog and Toad; he hates the rain!
But love and patience still exceeds.

I stared at the pond for hours
Dipping my index and letting it drip

A rustle here, a rumour there,
Wouldnt stir my pouted lip.

In the green I didn’t note you.
No bark or howl did you insist.

I had defied your mild chirping,
Untill I saw you wearing mist.

Green frog, looking upwards.
Slight, but surely there.

Please stay here, pondside with me,
In this sigh im glad to share.

Hey, little frog
on your pad in a pond
surveying your kingdom green
You don’t have a golden ball,
no princess came to call
and these lily pads are all you’ve seen
You’re just fine in your domain
and have no reason to complain
with your fine banquet of flies that teem
So you sit strong and alone
on your very own green throne —
just now swims up a queen