Amphibians

When life is losing its meaning, And the glorious colors grow pale, And death seems the one destination, Remember the humble toad, Doomed to spend drier days Digging deep in the arid ground, Seeking survival and shelter, But to be loving and birthing, It later returns to the flow Of a resilient milieu that bestows The clarity of radiant expanse And the nudges of buoyant kin. Perhaps the insular, dreary days Are partly an illusion And existence points not to the grave, But to a metamorphosis, In which we shed these calloused feet And bathe in the nurturing nexus Of our birth-home, the sea.