a sitting stone on the river’s
bank
running white caps over
pebbles, leaves and branches
a little spotted toad clears its water drenched eyes
lifts its head up o’er to stare my way
who are you and why did you
come,
he asksI can only smile then look away
into my own reverie stream
where my night time dreams
had left me
there’s a calming in my soul
that has entered, a day ago forlorn
this moment now
it’s at rest
today, those who sneered
at me yesterday becauseof my brown skin,
at least appreciate my food
my drink
without looking I can sense
the little toad still staringmy way
it understands that I know
what it is to be
a little toad most days
he now smiles and
we both stare into the stream
we are all little toads, in some way or another.
ReplyDeleteAh, this is a rather sad reverie......I agree with TexWisGirl - we are all little toads, one way or another.I feel the reverse, kiddo, when it comes to skin. I am often uncomfortable in my white skin, as it is the skin of the oppressor, all over the world. It is often hard for me to be trapped inside it.
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