Otherwhere in Song…

In Spring, I finally hear them. Green tree frogs.
I’ve never seen one nor waded into their bogs,
or the odd swimming pool, or the marshes and creeks
where they croak, incessantly, like cicadas, for weeks,
(only when they’re silent, the sun might hide behind
a cloud, can I really hear the din). I should find
hundreds of them, the whole choir. Now, they’re gone,
the heat’s dried up the little brook. There’s none
in the garden, but still I look and see the sun cleave
a path through the weeping willow. I must leave
everything behind and listen. Barefoot, I tread
with nothing but the ghost of singing in my head.


2 thoughts on “Otherwhere in Song…

  1. Beautiful poem – I love the sound of frogs. Many happily croaking away in the lakes, bogs and marshes on the golf course yesterday during a massive thunderstorm, but we were not so, having been caught in the deluge.

    • We don’t have any here where we live, but Frost’s poem Hyla Brook is a favourite poem of mine. We do get cicadas which are incredibly loud and remind me that I’m not living in Manchester anymore. Mind you, the weather in Wellington is wild today so it will be a while before they surface I think! Lovely to hear from you bb and hope you are keeping well.

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