A Frog Named Jo Poem by Heidi Fiore
A Frog Named Jo
It must be nice, being a frog on the side of the road.
At least you are more appealing than a toad.
You sit in the grass that matches your jade scales
It seems as though flies fly to you, compelled
To be your delicacy, to be eaten.
And the flies appear gladly beaten.
And all seems in this natural scene
So peaceful and so serene,
And in our cruel world, that is what we see,
‘How Happy ore' others some can be'
But the point that we miss in all of this beauty,
Is that the world is not just for ‘me'
I may have my hard times, and so will you
But somewhere else in the world, someone is suffering too.
Now, as we leave this simple frog to its seeming life of bliss,
We don't ever look back, for it is not something to miss.
This frog had no connection to you
So why should you care what next it will do?
From this place, the frog could be snatched up by a bat
It will feed the bat family, and that will be that.
For some object of little acknowledgement from you
Is now something permanently lost from view.
But that frog could have had a family of its own;
A life, friends, a job, a home.
It seems foolish to think of these characteristics of a frog on the street,
But is it just as foolish as thinking of the people you meet?
All day long, many lives collide,
But we make sure to stand to the side.
In life, we never know what will come next,
All we can do is give every moment our best.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 6:43:28 PM # 1.0.0.1119
You left me speechless! …but hey: I won’t be daunted... :) Here goes. Apparently simple and everyday poetry rubbed on to contextualized deep psychology throws out shimmering lights like the aurora borealis….shimmering and iridescent like otherworldly fires. Like the silent tremors of a volcanic magma gathering force it has a Force Majeure that leaves little wrangling space for a critic. Purely from a content point of view the rhymes work well, it is fluid and exudes musicality…I could see little Mougly the man cub dancing in the back ground, Kaa’s soliloquy of serpentine syllables. Ya! .... I am sure Rudyard Kipling would have given a bemused nod or two…. :) And the real riot is when the poem is placed on the touchstone of context….then it glimmers unparalleled like the mountains in Mackenna’s Gold…..music to the soul. Grand, awe inspiring and mega scale… A beautiful write You can be rightly proud of yer lines Blessed be