Frogs Poem by Michael Estabrook


The autumn is coming

soon, that chill like you feel

in a cave stretching down deep

beneath a hill grabs at the air, both

early morning and at the end of the day.

I brought in the patio furniture

and the 2 ceramic frogs

from the garden,

tried to catch the 2 goldfish remaining

in my wife”s ornamental pond,

but couldn”t get the black one.

(Why is a black fish a gold fish, I wonder.)

Didn”t catch the 2 real frogs

swimming around in there either.

I”ll wait another week, see if they”re

still there, also try again to catch

the black goldfish, he”ll be fine until then.

I”ll drain the pond if I have to,

bring him inside before it gets too cold.

And that will be it until next year, in

the spring when the cycle starts all over again ““

put the furniture and the ceramic frogs

back into the garden and wait

for the real frogs to make their way

back up from the stream.

The frogs bring the spring with them

when they come and take the summer

with them when they go, like modern nature gods

controlling nature and the cycle of life.