Where did we come from?
Where do we go?
but no one seems to know.
No more wise than a lizard on a log,
let us consider the frog.
As if it had been planted and placed
on the pond especially for him,
the frog sits on a lily pad, quite content,
not wanting to go for a hop or a swim.
His eyes set on flies
before the early spring light grows dim,
he has not had a good croak since he woke,
but looks a happy four legged amphibian.
When his green skin grows less wet,
he has a fresh soak.
Sea gull and cat see him as a meal,
but he leaps in the water
the moment the danger is real.
He likes a belch and a squelch
in the mud and the slime,
most merry to mate now it is time.
The frog did not really lead us to the root.
Maybe next time, the newt?