Frog Writing '99


Journal Entry 4-27-99, poem by John Caddy
Letter From Canada, Brigden Public School
Frog Call, letters about the play
Pollywog "Mo," poem by Fletcher Gripp

Writings from previous year

          Journal Entry 4-27-99

          by John Caddy

          The chorus of spring peepers
          unfolds my heart tonight,
          this loud love song from deepest time
          that every year cries Now!

          For each piped note
          a small frog hangs in water cold
          or clings to a cattail blade, and makes
          a huge thin bubble of his throat
          to release it in
          this sweet piercing of night
          that overwhelms the dark
          it is so bright.

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P.S. Do you know how come frogs can balance on lily pads? We couldn't find the answer to this.

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            Pollywog "Mo"

            by Fletcher Gripp

            Time for frogs
            Time for 'wogs
            Pollywogs that turn to frogs
            It could take weeks or
            Months, you know
            For pollywogs to change, to grow.

            Spring is when the eggs are laid
            On branches, twigs, near waterways
            I found one once-a  Bullfrog 'wog.
            Behind our house back in our pond
            During Fall I brought him in
            The days becoming short and dim
            Each day down to the pond I'd go
            To fetch fresh water for Pollywog "Mo."

            Bullfrog 'wogs take months to grow
            I think she stayed 8 months or so
            His dwelling large and water fresh,
            Meals of algae, food and fish

            He'd swim and swim and swim about
            When tired, Mo rested on his rock
            Popping up for air at will
            You see, at this stage, he had gills!

            Months went by, Mo's legs did sprout
            I knew they would, there was no doubt!
            next to come, last but not least,
            Two more webless small front feet.
            From two small holes on either side
            Of Mo's quite bulbous head
            Is where his front arms would pop out
            A frog adult? Not yet...

            Then his tail had started to shrink
            A full formed Mo frog on the brink
            Five inches now was Pollywog Mo
            From head to his long tail
            A few more weeks and soon I'd have
            A full grown frog-not frail

            Spring has sprung
            The time has come
            To set this Mo frog free
            To use his instincts in the wild
            As it was meant to be

            I let him go one nice Spring morn
            Trusting what I had done
            To raise this being as well as I could
            Until another's born.

            Each day down to the pond I go
            And there sits Bullfrog Mo
            Eating bugs and winged things
            Down where the algae grows

            He's thriving, living, free at last
            Alive and well, I know
            It's good to see him everyday
            But I miss my Pollywog Mo.




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