Tadpoles looking like little fish,sprout legs,become frogs and hop away.I like it when you approveof what I dored tideyellow moon-men in boats fish for foodonce a tiny fishing village,over fished –now a tourist trap without fishReverence, the deepblack space between stars –filled with love and light.Hope, a silent voice,perennial,traveling at the speed of lighttea leaves from distantterraced slopes, harvested with lovehumming, she brews it upMy life once a tragedy –now a clean fresh slateto write...Sometimes problems multiplylike grasshoppers in draught –easier to focus on the good things in life.Unknowingly I disturb bee hive,they flyand give me chaseThere are times, in poems like these, more is said in less.I hope you can relate to these.