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Short Poems
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Waiting for Frogs
Through pieces of April
And parts of May
Princely frogs
Come marching her way.
Fly-catching tongues
Flicker and snatch
Playing ribbit and croak
With eyes that don't match.
Up to the mountain
Fingertips itching
Sweating a fountain
All senses just twitching
Squeeze and wish on
A lily pad's root
Caressing and crushing
With a kiss on the snoot.
languishing touches
On the likes of such
Seeking fruition
(God, what a crutch!)
Ear looking eyes
Legs of pure motion
Who'd think they'd give
Such a God-awful
Notion.
Nites black seeming
Day not to come
Nites tadpole teeming
Black passions (run some)
Wishes for princes
Receding in time
The need for
Fresh frogs
Now that would
Be mine.
by M. L. Ward
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