My Poetry

Froggy Season


Where I live, when the frogs come out at night, to sing their deep choruses to the moon, we know it is time to celebrate, for they signal the onset of monsoon. The monsoon is a very dicey season in these parts, though. The rains are not a surety at all. In fact, this year past, our city has not seen a drop of rain — we have had a dry monsoon season. We have heard no frogs at all for months! They are, right now, a distant memory; the sound of them lost behind the foggy veil of too much time gone by.

one drop, two drops, three —
the bull frog leads the bass
in the chorus after the rain.

Note: Haiku prompt by Heeding Haiku with Chevrefeuille on Mindlovemisery's Menagerie.

2 thoughts on “Froggy Season”

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