You’ve got to kiss a lot of frogs

They all told us

But some of preferred to spend our days

Alone

By the untroubled blue water of a pond

Playing with our golden baubles

And if we dropped them in that crystalline water

We plucked them out ourselves

The comfort of dreams 

Summer afternoons with the sun’s rays

Stroking our hair, painting our skin

Gold 

Brushing over our flaws

So much safer and simpler than

Slimy amphibian flesh against 

Our own

We ignored the frogs’ calls

The strange sadness behind their croaking songs

We lingered in the garden till the sun 

Fled

Till the glow on our skin faded 

And the old marks rose again

Suddenly we were shivering

We clutched our golden baubles

And saw that other, more practical girls

Had made princes of web-footed creatures

Transformed

Under the pale echo of the moon

We shrugged—what else could we do?—

And made our long, lonely way 

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