frog spawn
up to mattie’s gutter come on mun
run past the pub and the chapel run
past john shop’s chicken run run
fast past the pointed wooden pen
oozing the tar called bitumen
full pelt down the grass to clay
the stream sped over where the
caddis fly lay and on up
the dampness flowing from the well
three red bricks high and square
to look if there is any frog spawn where
on this febuary morn of a boy borne wild
upon the heels of a growing knowing child
oh yes knowing that the white grasses
blowing under spring’s bluest the sky
and why oh why is the spawn so late
scare raising the crows of walk back’s fate
all is windward on these wayward days
and days and days of visiting the well
again and again until one day yell
it’s there! it’s there! and
handed home to my tank in my shed
where the stickleback swims alone
i said here is the spawn that will bend
and grow and do you know
in a few months time if we feed
and throw in a rock or two
the legged little ones will know
that it is time to go and i will wait
all of winter’s waiting wait
until spring is once more at the garden gate
and wings on heels we’ll run and run
to find the frogspawn under a low spring sun
its black bright eyes are blinking blinking
and thinking how the warmth returns
to a new year long in its running wild
of that well borne wistful february child
