In remembrance of a frog who unfortunately crossed paths with me many years ago.
Kicking dirt. Torpid motion.
Risen from an abyssal aestivation.
A scheme drawn whilst licking her eyeball.
Through the reeds she will crawl,
Onto the lettuce leaf, leap a free-fall
And then to sprawl……
Spit hunt a spider for dinner…
Sedated kinesis but HALT!
Something in the air was amiss
Tympanum tickle. vibrations of a predator.
Stress hormones diffusing till the last bone,
But she remains as stiff as stone.
Should she leap or should she play dead?
Too late! At her rear is burgeoning dread!
Cold forked tongue coolly explores her shank,
Fear takes the crux; urine fluxes out her tank.
Dead giveaway! death is now not far away.
As she brings her third eyelid to a closing,
Lettuce leaves for her still awaiting.
Reeds and lilies gently swaying, a hornet gleefully buzzing.
Skin tingling, expecting for fangs to puncture,
Body glistening amber with blotched black lustre.
Why in nature is ‘pretty’ doomed to rupture?
But today was not the day, for pretty to be slain.
Steely scales brushing past but static she maintains.
Vibrations obscuring, life she retains
A trail of tail sliding into mossy terrain.
Triggers: Hello tomorrow by Karen O .
3 responses to “My Pretty slain frog”
Again art and poetry , a perfect package
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I couldn’t agree more. Thank You!
Reblogged this on Arcadian Verses.