When everything descends into chaos
There is still a staunch Mister Toad
Hiding out and protecting
A courtyard overgrown with tropical plants.
He’s there in the moonlight
He’s there all night
Then at dawn he goes to sleep under a banyan root
So he is scarcely around during the day.
Smitten by the moisture of the yard
Mister Toad senses the tiniest breeze
And the cellophane jeweled wings of insects
Whereupon he holds still for a long time, barely moving at all.
O, yes, a fine friend who brooked no argument
And thought nothing of lazing away each day and night of the year
Down in the same twist of a banyan root.
Yet I feel immense loss.
I hear Mister Toad’s voice in the afternoon
“Listen to the Wind!” he reminded me and inflated his cheeks like balloons.
Of course, I realized, this is the perfect time for a working:
A requiem for Mister Toad.