The frog, though hungry, waits passively,
invisible as he can be,
a hidden trap, hair-triggered,
concealed within the boggy grasses
green on green
within green on green.
The flitting butterfly,
lemon spot upon a golden field
does not see the frog
or would have gone another way.
Too late, reeled in by sticky tongue
She does not appreciate
she fit within the color scheme.
362 ®Copyright 1974 Jack Scott. All rights reserved.