the nightly croaking from the pond
recalls another time and place
the sounds do not quite correspond
but have an equal sort of grace
what’s winter here has turned so mild
that we can see the forceful green
reminder of the nearby wild
just inches past the window screen
those arguments that we have made
regarding mother nature’s pain
seem all at once a sad charade
as weeds spring up after the rain
what we have learnt is very clear
about the cycles in their course
of tropic or of temperate year
they have the same gigantic force
the frogs that croak in pond or tree
ignoring us proclaiming life
for their short passage do live free
and teach us something about strife
