An Ode To A Toad

The world grew weary. Time thundered on as it

Had for ages hence. The skies roared;

clouds filled with water as the Earth braced

For impact. Nothing prevented the

Drop as it sped to flatten itself on the back of the magnificent Beast.

 

It stood proudly at the edge of a cliff,

Spotted back, rough, scaly skin and all.

The tongue shot out, wrapped around the fly,

Returning it to the mouth of the Toad.

 

The Beast turned, hopped, its hind legs extended,

Toward the fractured, fractaled stone ribbon,

Very aware of the young giants running.

The wind buffeted past, as one giantling,

On the verge of gianthood, nearly squashed it.

 

Frigthened, it scrambled past the twigged-trees,

Over the edge and into the sewer beneath.

Heart racing, gasping, the creature barely

Rested a second when it heard the dreaded sound.

 

In the smallest fraction of time, it was over.

The snake licked its lips, grinning at the

Late toad’s cousin in the distance who,

Petrified, raced out of the sewer

And onto the stone ribbon where he

Was promptly squashed flatter than rain-drops

When they fell on the ground.

 

The world grew wearier and Time rolled on as it had for ages hence.

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