Frogs

The storm broke, and it rained, And water rose in the pool, And frogs hopped into the gutter, With their skins of yellow and green, And just their eyes shining above the surface Of the warm solution of slime.

At night, when fireflies trace Light-lines between the trees and flowers Exhaling perfume, The frogs speak to each other In rhythm. The sound is monstrous, But their voices are filled with satisfaction.

In the city I pine for the country; In the country I long for conversation — Our happy croaking.