frogs

the sun hides behind the dark mountain
a low murmur seeps into my silent soul
the familiar chill of evening covers me

mosquitos hum their high notes
and the languid stars gradually appear
upon the blue-black washed sky

there, the waltz of the moon
continues among the stellar crowd
the organic night comes to life

unseen, in the shadows their talk
turns into song, i meditate to the drone
of late spring, early summer

and by morning light their chorus
fades to become scattered distant croaks
replaced by the ensemble of birds, bugs

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