What
joy to watch the frog
called “gimpy” - ‘twas a little boy named Joe
Who
loved the way he hopped from stream to
pond to rock where mosses grow
A gladdened heart was
in the child when e’er he came to Silver
Stream
Until
the day the “gimp” was taken quickly by a medical team
What
mercy lies in scalpel hands –amphibians are meant to die
To
find out what makes froggies tick and how their
muscles make them fly
No
tears were shed for little Joe who missed his friend at Silver Stream
No
more the “croak”, the bulging eyes, the “jeté” under moonlight beam
The
doctors claimed the only way to understand what’s there inside
Is
opening the outer shell and piercing through their softened hide
And
now in books they’ll know for sure what made our little gimpy fly
But
never will he jump again and Joe will always wonder why
I thought of this the other day when reading lovely poetry
It touched my soul, infused my mind and moved my heart to ecstasy
Its’
stirring words and lofty thoughts I must say took my breath away
Its’
brightness took away the dark revealing, nature’s glorious day
And never
did I think for once that poems like this would suffer loss
Until the
order “explicate” with verbal scalpel came across
“One needs
to see just what’s inside and what makes poets words so great”
So
armed with theme and tone and style I set out to elucidate
And finally
when the work was done, I saw what made the story roam
But lost was all the ecstasy when first I
read this lovely poem
No longer does it “hop” or “fly”
-Think I know the reason why!
No comments:
Post a Comment