Croak He keeps skinny tadpoles in a pickle jar, in there wiggling around, ink black, and legless. He plucked them from a bell loud pond where hundreds of them were born, again and again. And a big frog with palpable grievance boldly croaks. And croaks.
Written for De’s dVerse Poets, Quadrille 44 “Bold”. AI Digital Art is mine and created using Midjourney’s bot (v4). Image and poem ©Misky 2023 Shared on Twitter #amwriting