The Garden Toad
One morning in my garden - as the mist
dissolved – a thousand apples ripe and gold
I eager saw, that hung from boughs of gold.
I pondered which to eat, when through the mist -
there squatting in the stiff and frozen grass -
I saw a thing – still as the dead – a toad.
I stood as still for long, until that toad
fled suddenly, and hid within the grass.
Though then those golden apples I did eat -
still it is lurking sometimes by those trees,
staying my hand, when I go near those trees -
when pondering which apples I will eat.