She said to me,
"if I tell you to go,
would you just leave?
When you look at me,
I see the sadness, you feel
and know you'll be
better when I'm gone."
I said "Stop don't talk like that
for I am here for you,
no matter what you might do.
Please don't worry about me;
we will manage this, please agree."
She looked and nodded at me.

Ugliness has risen, in our life led,
where many citizens are begging for bread,
in this great country of ours, broken now,
as there is no work or how
to survive, in this, our own land,
as the virus killed, one hundred thousand.
Where is the outrage? The question why,
when our elected leader, continues to lie?

The Gods are at play,
is often said,
when the game they're playing,
can wake the dead.
A rolling noise, coming this way,
shows me the Gods really do
know how to play.

A trail, a path, a rutted road,
marked the journey of the old Toad.
He left the Bog he lived in,
starting his life anew, where it began.
From Bog to trail, through the trees,
hiding in daylight under branches and leaves.
He made his way toward the town,
where his family lived, near the Sound.
Water he craved, back to the Sea,
for this journey is not about him,
but more about the man I be.
I must go now; the light grows dim
as our journey in life is short,
from the time we were born
until life does abort.