Paper Crane

Location

77479
United States
29° 33' 58.662" N, 95° 36' 51.3216" W

Bullets born from our sorrowful tears,

cold as ice and clear as crystal

Fire through the dense barricade of the emerald-green,

leave-covered, tree-filled canopy

As an electrified bolt of lightning

fires through the skies

Exploding on impact into the uncultivated mangroves

entrusted to the surreptitious, clandestine surroundings

Of Dreamland’s Hollow drowning into the void

filled with the burning twilight

Just before the blinding burst of light

accompanying the break of dawn

The fog rolls over

turning the frogs of our rainforest over

to the cold, caressing grasp

of sleep.

Morning greets dawn

the war is over.

Sunshine streams through the golden-lit branches

as early-morning dew drips off the soft, petals of the flowers abloom

Frogs dart back and forth,

dazzling in a billion, blindingly beautiful hues

Gold and strawberry

red, pink and blue.

Earth’s little treasure trove

abounds with delightful little frog creatures.

With over 4,000 types

there’s a frog for everyone.

With big, brown, shoe-button eyes

and adorable little webbed feet.

Modeling the cutest potbellies

so big, white and round.

Nature’s cutest amphibians

are perfect all-around.

With so many different varieties

Some of them climbed the trees in stealth,

trees with bark as black as ebony

and leaves glistening like emeralds

The rest danced in whirls of water

Splashing into the pond

with resounding circles of water

Like skipping stones

bouncing onto the currents

of a hollow river.

Pretty-little-princess frogs

dote on Lilly-pads

Batting their big, shoe button eyes

behind the love struck flowers

smitten with Cupid’s arrow.

The rest burrow into the ground

in places where the sky’s tears

cannot meet the thirst

of their, poor, parched throats.

Helen’s flying frog

complete in dancing colors of green and gold

Glides swiftly with embracing caress

into the early-morning breeze.

The Brazilian horned frog

Bellows a chorus

of a thousand trumpets

To attract his lovely, little Frog Bride.

Everything was perfect

All were happy

Nature’s little treasure trove

and all the frogs and amphibians

flew with the wind

swam in the ponds

hopped amongst the Lilly pads

climbed the trees

mated and married

thrust their tongues out

and caught

crunch, zesty flies and roaches

All was well

until the humans came

Cutting down the rainforests

Polluting the air

Killing the frogs just to eat their legs

And selling them away as pets

to live the rest of their lives as domestic prisoners

Caged up in glass

where the sun doesn’t shine

and the rain doesn’t fall

with a metal bowl

sprinkled with dried flies

They’ll never get to see their parents

or have the girlfriend they once desired

They’ll never get to enjoy the thrill of the hunt

and catch their own food

or play with their friends

Never splash in a pond

nor fly in the wind

They ate the mosquitos

that bit us dear

And snatched up the roaches

that repulsed us queer.

They killed off our pests

and delighted our kids

Beautified our gardens

and livened our homes

singing music to our ears

in delightful little chirrups

But how did we repay them?

We tore down the rainforests

Stole their homes

Cut down their trees

Poisoned their air

and polluted their ponds

We cut off their legs

and ate them as food

Kidnapped their beloved girlfriends

and cut them open in our little lab experiments

But if things couldn’t get worse

we took their kids

to amuse our own

and kept them in cages

scaring them with cobras

and starving them of hope.

Now we might never get to see

The Harlequin toad,

so close to extinction

complete in ebony-black

and electrifying, shocking pink

a mesmerizing sight for sore eyes

and the tastiest eye candy any frog could offer.

Nor will we ever see the golden dart frog

so bright and joyous

on such a rare occasion.

It’s time to save the frogs

The cruel, oppressed victims of our cruel ways

And donate a little time and energy

to fight for a cause

that can’t fight for itself.
Gone
like a paper crane.

Guide that inspired this poem: 

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