I walked through a wood one summer’s day,
Afternoon light dappled a forest glade;
Lily pad in green-black pond and on it lay
A frog whose languid croak appeared to say,
As he scratched white belly in sun’s warm ray,
I shall not move on this summer’s day.
I stopped to ponder my neighbor in green,
Who, eyes near closed in dreamlike sheen,
Lay ankles crossed and head on arm a’lean;
He snorted half asleep in his pastoral scene,
Then snapped half-hearted at black fly on wing;
I chuckled then and left my neighbor in green.
Away the wood, I walked on granite shore,
Pounding waves, knuckles rapped upon a door;
Lobster boat, weather-worn in wind that tore,
And red-faced men, like fishermen of yore,
Whose raw, ripped flesh labored evermore,
To work the sea that swept the granite shore.
From windswept shore I climbed to rocky perch,
Crowned like giant stairs to steepled church,
Solid and immovable, no waver, without lurch;
Pitching boat ‘mid rolling waves, fragile as the birch,
I feared for frail men, how perilous the search;
But calmed the wind, I climbed from rocky perch.
Walked I now upon concrete path in town,
Crisscrossed here and there with poles of brown,
Wires black, and stacks that belched like clowns;
Buildings dark and squat gave good Earth an ugly frown;
People passed, eyes avert, unsmiling, looking down;
I felt no joy from fellow man on the concrete path in town.
Upon a bench I sat in park, silence, no music thrilled the air,
Nor child’s laugh or lovers’ sigh, no, nothing, nothing fair,
No flowers bright nor chirping sparrow, all had flown from there;
I pondered as I sat, and sorrowed at man’s life, threadbare
Of God’s delights and starry nights, excitement, wonder, dare;
Oh, how I longed for frog and granite shore, with music to thrill the air.