The Frog and the Granite Shore

Reposted, because today’s posts seem filled with lily pads, a treasure of my childhood.

Writers Envy

I walked through a wood one late summer’s day,
Afternoon light dappled a forest glade;
Lily pad in green-black pond and on it lay
A frog whose languid croak appeared to say,
As he scratched white belly in sun’s warm ray,
I shall not move on this late summer’s day.

I stopped to ponder my neighbor in green,
Who, eyes near closed in dreamlike sheen,
Lay ankles crossed and head on arm a lean;
He snorted half asleep in his pastoral scene,
Then snapped half-hearted at black fly on wing;
I chuckled then and left my neighbor in green.

Away the wood, I walked upon the granite shore,
Pounding waves, like knuckles rapped upon a door;
A lobster boat, weatherworn in wind that tore,
And red-faced men, like fishermen of yore,
Whose raw, ripped flesh labored evermore,
To work the sea that swept the granite shore.

From windswept shore I…

View original post 175 more words

5 thoughts on “The Frog and the Granite Shore

  1. Kris

    I have never seen a frog on a lily pad. In the grasses around the lake, yes, but not on the pads. I could see yours, though. So, who needs reality when your imagination can take you there perfectly by following a writer’s dream?

    Liked by 1 person

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