When I was a boy I would walk
through the puddles
by the garage and look for frogs.
I found them almost every time;
I would corral them into my fingers
and see how patient they could be.
Would I crush them?
Would they pee on me?
After a few moments rest they would hop away,
their cool slime lingering on the touch of my
fingers.
Home now, and much older,
I can’t find anything yet
but each blade of grass bounces back
after being hit by a drop of rain
could be another one.
May 15
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