hibernating frog

I dug up a hibernating frog,

When I levered a buried paving stone,

Out of the ground,

Next to the pond.

I imagined that I was an archaeologist,

Or a grave robber,

As I cut away couch grass and weeds

And prised the slab onto its edge,

But as it hadn’t been buried that long,

The only treasures revealed,

Seemed to be worms and woodlice

Scurrying and writhing away

From the sudden unwelcome daylight.

Then I saw the little frog’s

Long legs kicking

As it hid in another crevice.

Sorry, amphibian pal,

To have so rudely woken you.

Spring’s on the way

But not quite all here yet,

So, catch some more kip,

Until the sun’s well up

And the swifts have returned.