A symphony of groaning frogs greets my arrival
as I step through the damp night.
I peer over the top level of the parking garage
searching for a creek or marsh to explain
this daily midnight oddity
but find no answers.
Soon, tired glances betraying hearts of gold
will cling to the consolation of the hippocratic oath.
The humdrum of beeping IVs barely background noise
to the pallid night of ribbiting frogs nowhere to be found.
The Bird's Song 