The Frog in the Well
did not turn into a prince.
I live to tell the tale.
Still I observed its mottled emerald skin,
felt the skeleton, a perfect physical vulnerability.
I kept my hands wet, lest I should do it harm
as I learned from fishing,
the catch and release.
I did not seek to manipulate, rather satisfied
with bulging eyes staring unflinchingly.
I held the creature as long as I dared
before spreading my palm
to offer a return to freedom.
The amphibian took its time
and I surmised we both enjoyed the exchange,
though anthropomorphizing seems disingenuous.
I respect diversity too much
to wish every creature human.
In the end I got the prince,
and perhaps learned something from the frog
in the way of gentle handling, though it took some time.
He chose to dry-dock, and together we have made a life.
Occasionally I ponder the well, and at such times wonder
if a thing captured can ever truly be free.
That is the balance in our lives, the enduring quality of love,
the fairy dance of Princess and Toad.
This tale ends happily
for my hand remains open,