Frog in the well

Author’s Note – Hey folks, apologies for sending this ahead of the next installment of Noah. I had to get this out there. It is a bit trippy and has an ideal in it depending on your perspective. Try to relate, you just might! Hope you enjoy 🙂

There once was a frog,

Green and plump,

Lived in a well,

Dark and damp


He croaked at the sun,

He croaked at the moon,

He croaked at the rain,

He croaked in vain.


The walls of the well,

That well so deep,

Had become a daily sight,

Had become a lonely sight


Oblivious was he,

Of the world outside,

Insidious his progress,

His mind descending into disarray.


He looked up, up at the sun,

Up at the moon,

Up at the rain,

He looked up with dismay.


He wanted a day,

A day out in the open,

The dingy well in all its dullness,

Had gotten to him


He was tired,

Angry even, wondering,

Was he condemned?

Was he discarded?


Who knew?

Who gave a shit,

To a noisy frog,

In a damp well.


Then one day,

He heard a sound,

Sound of trickling water,

It was heavenly.


It had rained before,

But never had it done this,

Never had it filled the well,

A figment of his imagination, materializing.


Slowly but surely,

The frog hoisted himself,

Up at the precipice,

Of the boring abomination


He croaked again,

Up at the sun,

Up at the rains,

Up at the …. The moon?


Oh but the moon,

It seemed like it was smiling,

As if welcoming the frog,

To a brand new world.


Or it was a hallucination,

A mirage from the heat,

Of his burning soul,

Borne from desire.


He leapt with vigour, with joy,

As if trying to thank,

The moon in all its beauty,

One from his dreams.


He croaked with joy,

Up at the sun,

Up at the rains,

But not at the moon,

Why? ‘Cause the moon was his!

S Narayanswamy