by Frances M. Frost
At the edge of the tide
He stops to wonder,
Races throught
The lace of thunder.
On toothpick legs
Swift and brittle,
He runs and pipes
And his voice is little.
But small or not,
He has the notion
To outshout
The Atlantic Ocean.
from Sing a Song of Seasons:
A Nature Poem for Each Day of the Year
Selected by Fiona Waters
illustrated by Frann Preston-Gannon
Candlewick Press, 2018 
No comments:
Post a Comment