from evening to morning

[fledgist]

 frogs croaking through the night even in cold

february so rustically loud

you feel immersed within a chanting crowd

and yet the sound itself does not grow old

the singers do not seem to be consoled

but croak majestically clear and proud

this is their world they won't be disallowed

by sleepy humans none of whom are bold

to say all this is merely to record

last night's concerto in the nearby pond

as one more sign of nature undismayed

by all we do for my part i just snored

dreamt of strange worlds and places far beyond

my normal life then woke to mundane trade