Wayne G. Palmer
Waterbug's sundance 'pon lily pad floor,
twirling like Merlin while gathering spores,
naive to advances, a little green frog,
guilefully leaping o'er rushes and logs.
Then zap! - no more waterbug, snapped by a tongue,
what a woeful mind's startle to wide eyes so young. Upon the same lily the amphibian now sat,
soaking and croaking, quite jolly and fat,
I barely had time to digest and to smile,
when an adder came stealthily slithering in style.
Now swoosh! - no more frog, swallowed whole by the snake,
a cry from awed lips, to protect I forsake. So down from the fields came my dad like a bullet,
shrieking, but peeking, the serpent's stretched gullet,
Then thwack! - no more snake, jerked in half by a scythe,
his red eyes cold, spent, his tail still alive.
"Now who will slay us?" came my voice from beyond.
Thirty years hence I still sit by the pond.
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