Your eyes wander the forest,
Brushing the murky green floor.
You see a stone beneath you.
A stone? Or something more?
A cry of shock bursts from your lips
As the stone takes a flying leap.
This stone is not a stone at all
But a toad alarmed from sleep!
How strange a creature, motivated
Into action all at once!
With pounding heart, he tenses up
And springs forth in a jump!
Your naked eye squints shrewdly down
At the heart that beats within.
Each pound thrums through his body;
Shakes the warts upon his skin.
Repulsed by him, you move on,
But the toad does not.
He's left alone in winter's grip,
Nestled deep within the rot.
Winter passes, then comes Spring,
A time for life's renewal.
Out comes the toad, warts unchanged.
Nature, too, can be quite cruel.
Resigned to be alone, the toad,
Still caked with dried up earth,
Waits for the skies to open up,
And rain down his rebirth.
The skies do grace him one fine day,
And he flies up in a leap.
So sweet is the toad's victory,
In the face of stark defeat!
The toad cries out to all the wood,
"I know something true!
Nature fashioned each of us the same,
And I see myself in you!"