Waiting

The other frogs consider me aloof

And mock each out-of-season mating call,

But I regard my plight as living proof

That faith can foster something magical.

So crouching patiently above the scum

With chin uplifted, eyelids low and still,

I wait for my redeeming love to come.

With numbing numbers cruelly reduced

To caviar for snacking perch and trout,

Dessert for weary birds before they roost

Or toys that idle boys have caught for sport,

It all confirms my sense of destiny.

Someday she will appear to grace this plot

And recognize the manifest in me.

(1996 Nemerov Sonnet Award finalist)