The frog croaked softly amid the morning mist His breath hung in the air puffs of October's fall The birds chirped in splendor as the frost captured their song holding notes in suspension until others returned the call
And on the water, lily pads floated past in a gentle breeze the size of china saucers we'd use whilst sipping tea a bridge of small proportions the hopscotch game of life a crossing from our world to theirs under the crimson leaves
Birds came to watch with envy atop their crooked perch Bugs skated to and fro across the liquid glass The dandelion dancers drifted above the pool and stood on lily pad ferries where the bullfrogs had sat
The forest was a portrait by Van Gogh and Claude Monet A storm of autumn colors the lily pads ablaze A stillness to be broken beneath the sun's warm smile The tranquil winds kept blowing the fire sparked by our gaze
The music of the angels disguised by amber leaves amidst the forest wildfire ne'er to melt the morning frost And people pass, indifferently the beauty that was there as none but I did witness the life this fall had brought
Oh little lily pad, You'll have to battle to stay afloat, Shielding yourself against the sharp, dark waves, Of my beating heart. But, please learn to take root. For, I'll intertwine around you, Taking hold, slowly hoping you'll realize, Those same dark waters, Are struggling to nuture your very core. Those same dark waters, Have made you grow, baby.