A toad, rough and warty, lived in a wood
That beautifully bordered a pond, as it should.
His forage was beetles, bugs, critters, and grubs.
His favorite meals were nightcrawler subs.
(Two worms in between in two halves of toadstool
Made the best sandwich ever - better than beetle gruel).
The sunset came sooner, the nights chilly grew.
The bugs shrank in number 'til there were so few
That the toad, summer-fat, went seeking a den
Where he could outlast the cold and dark when
The warm-blooded creatures were all that could thrive
When the Winter Witch blew, and no toad could survive.
The toad found a sandbank where diggin' was easy
Where he could go deep and avoid all that freezy
Ice breath and frost that the Winter Witch brought -
(No one escaped that her frigid hand caught).
Toad snuggled in deep where he carved him a hollow
Where toad-eating badgers and racoons couldn't follow.
His breathing grew slow and his senses grew sleepy -
If toad had been smarter, it might have seemed creepy.
But this was the way that Toad lived through the cold,
In toad kingdoms this way was honored and old.
It was Toad's tenth year that he'd wintered this way.
It was clear - warts and all - Toad wanted to stay.
The witch had grown mighty, miles in from the coast -
Where warm currents idled and brought gentler climes
To fishes who swam and ignored winter times -
(Toad never thought of the witch's sly scheming.
Toads can't imagine the plans of a demon!)
She'd make this winter bitter, even colder than most.
So in the cold woods where the winter witch ruled,
The soil turned rock-hard; the toad's chamber cooled, and
Lost in the slow dreams he viewed in his head,
The toad gave an uneasy twitch in his bed.
The witch's blue fingers searched deep in the dirt:
To her, stifling life was a joy, not just work.
Still toad slumbered deep, snaring slow, fat, mosquitoes,
Like a boomerang his tongue in dream air he throws.
Like a skillful harpooner, plump dream flies he snatches, and
Clamps his jaws shut with small teeth like fine latches.
Toad twitches; the witch makes his dream-den grow cooler -
If toad would just wake up, maybe then he could fool her.
But the witch is relentless - it's summer she hates.
It drives the witch northward; furious, she waits.
December's her first month to freeze and subdue -
Make soil like bedrock, turn sleeping toads blue.
While toad's lost in dreamland and gorges dream nits,
The Winter Witch howls, but Toad's lost his wits.
His cavern was frigid; still frosty Toad slept.
If he'd a-been conscious, poor Toad would 'a wept.
The witch's long fingers were probing ice snakes
She delved and she dug, through soil she raked and -
Her left fist surrounded Toad's cave like a shell -
Made it frigid and still; (not fiery, like hell.)
And Toad, sleeping deep, in his fantasies dwelt.
His dreams were so rich he no icicles felt.
As the witch drew ever closer, still Toad slept sublime.
He chased meaty moths and dragonflies prime.
A full-bellied toad sleeps winter's long nights
As an emperor, a king, or a conqueror might.
But keen tines of ice wove toward Toad through the sand
And slowly, contracted the Winter Witch's hand!
The toad's outer skin, the wall of his life,
Grew still in the clutch of this winter's mad wife.
Was Toad thus to perish? Entombed in the dark?
The witch groped yet deeper, and searched for his heart!
Obeying the cruel Witch's sentence on Earth,
Frigid streams of air bring death and bring dearth!
It's no time for growing! It's no time for birth!
While Toad, thinking slowly - he was skinnier in girth -
Had finally asked himself questions of worth.
Yes, fine wondrous thoughts! Truths that bring mirth!
"Is life eating maggots? Are larvae just fodder?
If this is the deal, then my life is much odder
Than ever toad uttered, than ever toad guessed."
He laughed at the query, guffawed at his jest.
He laughed at his purpose, and that of the beasts:
If eating is all, we're all fools at a feast.
He laughed his metabolism up a few measures!
He laughed at the toad world - where flies count as treasures!
He laughed at the weasel, who hunts for chipmunks:
He laughed at the black snakes, he laughed at the skunks,
He laughed at all creatures whose lives were so fleetin',
Who wasted life thinking life's meaning was eatin'.
He laughed him so hard that his temperature rose!
(If he hadn't laughed, toad's ass would've froze.)
He laughed till he passed all the gases he'd stored up -
(Good thing for the Toad that his cave was well shored-up).
Toad's cavern warmed up as the bad-smelling vapors
Spread through the cave and were warmed by his capers.
Toad's temperature rose just a double-tad higher;
(Half-frozen like Toad, what's needed is fire
To warm up his innards, to get his guts cookin'.
Toad had to get hot while the Witch wasn't lookin'.
If she saw him heatin'up, he'd be a lost thing,
She'd freeze poor Toad solid - no chance of defrosting.)
But Toad laughed real hard - so robust his chuckles,
That the belt he was wearin' - Toad busted its buckles!
Toad laughed so deep that he couldn't stop, and
He swelled up till a wart took off with a pop!
Degree by degree, up crept his heat -
Spreading through cartilage, veins, and toad meat.
Then after three minutes of shaking like jelly,
Toad finally calmed, with an ache in his belly.
Toad took a deep breath - the air was still reeking
From gas mirthful Toad had just previously been leaking.
If Toad had been human, it would have been vile
But Toad breathed it deep, and he started to smile.
His home was the swamp, and swamp had a smell
That Toad had learned to live with quite well.
The trouble with smells is we're taught how to think 'em
And that's how perfume gets distinguished from stinkum.
If that's not a word, it still does express
Aromas we squeam at, and try to suppress.
Forgive this digression on matters so odorous -
Let's get back to Toad and his status so perilous!
In a small, lightless hole in the middle of winter
Toad had a problem! No friends! Not one mentor!
(He had not one buddy, and alone in the sand,
Toad had to warm up; he needed a plan.)
Toad thought of the witch, and though he'd not seen her,
Toad thought of terror - nothing could be meaner.
The Winter Witch didn't care - not even one jot-
As she sent cold a-creepin' back into Toad's spot.
Woe! To the critters who quaked in her clutches!
The wicked Witch freezes whatever she touches.
With amphibian fingers, Toad started to dig.
Between rocks and pebbles, he'd zag and he'd zig.
Past pebbles of limestone, of calcite, of quartz.
He dug so darn hard that he wore off more warts.
Although he got warmer, Toad's thinking got hazy
Yeah, Toad got confused, but he sure wasn't lazy.
Shoveling and shoveling till at last he'd just scratch.
For this hard winter digging, Toad wasn't a match.
Yet feebly he dug on, picking up tiny scoops,
Slower he dug, but still he dug - OOPS!
The floor of his den had caved in as Toad tunneled!
He fell, tumbled, rolled - then he stopped - Toad was puzzled!
Toad wondered and pored about what had occurred,
Then he realized this new den was warm - and was furred!
Exhausted, he stretched out, like Venus on ermine
And he slept and he slept, and he dreamed he was wormin'.
He slept till the Spring Goddess' kiss warmed the world,
Then finally Toad woke; Toad peered, and uncurled.
Now he had time to ponder the reason
Of how he'd escaped from the long, freezin', season.
And what kind of den came equipped with a rug, and -
Glorious heat! - how far had he dug?
As Toad grappled hard with this marvelous riddle,
The rug started movin' - with Toad in the middle!
Toad clung for dear life to the wondrous warm floor
Which moved herky-jerky to a bright sunlit door
And then stopped in gold light, amid the sun's rays;
Toad hung on, blinkin', his mind in a daze.
The rug sat there baskin, so Toad basked there too.
He asked himself questions; he asked quite a few.
Toad couldn't see how this happened, or why
He was a bug-catcher, not a smart guy!...WHAT!
The rug shook Toad off! - and the answer he was seekin'
Peered back at him! Two big brown eyes peekin'!
The warmth was explained, and the deep cozy pelt:
He'd holed up with a woodchuck! And grateful, Toad felt
That he'd made a friend of a different degree -
A buddy with warm blood, like you or like me.
Together they basked, old Woodchuck and Toad
In a sun-splashed field half a mile from a road.
Where Colt's Foot and Crocuses bloomed all aroud,
Where butterflies lit, and clear was the sound
Of redwings and song sparrows calling for love!
They glided and swooped through the blue sky above.
All around, tiny flies swirled in their hatches
Today let 'em dance; later Toad would eat batches.
This day is for joy, thought Woodchuck and Toad,
They basked and they dreamed, and all the world glowed.
Far to the North, the bitter witch raged
And howled at the end of the season she'd made.
She cursed and she swore at all green things that grew,
She was pickled in hate - but the Winter Witch knew
That springtime would pass, then summer, then fall,
And then - once again - she would dominate all.
