This shall be the symbol of my clan
The slime of my ancestors
For those whose claim for life and prosperity
Is as prolonged as the length of the list found in the clan’s tree

This frog is your frog
It is part of the multitude
Taking the power of the ten rivers
Its croaking
Is the uproar against the loudest blur of the reigning rains

You are the frog like us

From water to land to grasses to marshes to trenches
Of this earth
We shall remain as the true descendants of the great frog

By our nature
We shall not go hungry
By the power of the longest tongue
By the secret poisons of our skins
By our rounded views
By our slime
By the strong clinging of our ties
We shall all be saved
From the great flood
May our dead ancestors
May the great frogs
Lead us to the most secure pond of our future lives
And may the frog in us
Give us the great leap
The great jump
Taking us to our dream
Our clear cool waters
Teeming with mashing marshes
And there
Dear loving frogs of this clan
Let all our croaking be one.
Let all our croaking be true.
Let our croaking be love.

Submitted: Monday, April 21, 2008

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Poem of the Day

poet Sir Walter Scott

The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,
And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day;
Then gather, gather, gather Grigalach!
Gather, gather, gather Grigalach!

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