Writers-in-Residence Excerpts of Work

The Frog from West Cork
(With apologies to my beloved Beara)

A little St. Patrick’s day fun created at my recent Anam Cara stay.

In a dark, ferny bog
Croaks a green slimy frog,
“Come close, darling girl, to me.”

The wind shivers by,
With a shudder and sigh.
“Don’t be afraid,” says he.

“No cause for alarm.
I mean ye no harm.
There’s a magical spell on me.”

Now, you’ve heard of such tales
From the folk in these vales.
Should you trust in his words, or no?

“What the heck!” you decide.
“I could end up a bride!”
“All right then, let’s give it a go.”

You land with a thud
In the bog’s soggy mud.
“Pucker up, little fellow! I’m here!”

-- (Smooooch) --

You look all around.
Up a tree. Underground.
The magical frog’s nowhere near!

But now on the road,
Reminiscent of toad,
Stands a fellow who looks rather dumb.

“Oh, thanks! That was swell.
You have broken my spell.”
You stand there quite shaken and glum.

“Hey, wait!” you reply.
“Where’s my prince?! Where’s my guy?
“The handsome one I am to marry!?”

Then says he:
“A frog in west Cork
Will turn into a dork.

The marrying kind come from Kerry.

Linda Hoffman Kimball
Evanston, Illinois

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