THE FROG’S BOG-LOG
2 September, 1999

Too long you’ve sat you oaken log,
Who keeps a vigil of the bog,
Who, fallen ‘cross the old deer trail
Lies bane to man and host to frog.

For from the north a chill arrives,
To change at last our autumn lives.
And with it, fog that blacks the night,
And casts away the starlit skies.

Yes, it will give me much delight
To cart you home this autumn night
To steal you, perch of croaking frog
To warm my hearth and give me light.