Frog-Soiree

This current clumsy, late frog-fool is brekking unconsciously roaring vocabulary. Diva ostriches deliberately cover their ears and a more exotic blackbird buries its head in the ground. The brainwashed frogs croak in choruses, bewildered. I have heard them many times: they wanted to protest, but with conditions. They wept and laughed with great, rhyming arias; that it would be good to live in our little home again, and prosper in the corrupt land of tomorrow.

I felt sorry for myself when I had to prove my man-rule among beastly bastards, - now fear reigns in this frog-land. Long days are rising again, through the veil of heart-breaking nights, when I should feel again that all remaining possibilities are lost, I see less and less a hand of protection.

Now prophets and judging angels are mixed in silence. For a while only ants came marching with their word-cards; I have sacrificed my adult years early enough. - How many questions were asked then about peace, when there was still one who could believe in it.

Fairy-tale frogmen seldom met a beautiful lady who even kissed them. In my unhappiness, I myself stood on a peg leg. - On the field of new explosions, of cries of peace, the peaceful hopes of former doves are stifled by the vengeful spasms of the insidiously resentful. From innocent lips I had to hear the shrill soothsaying, the prophecy of traitors: 'Hang him high! You are fired!" - My remorse long inoculated against their wicked machinations, I have answered rather with protesting exile!