A SONG OF THE NIGHT 
47 
Soon these varied callers will leave the ponds and 
nature’s warmth will hatch their jelly-covered eggs 
into black, wriggling multitudes of Polly-wogs* 
These will in turn discard their gills for lungs and 
their tails for legs, and will be prepared to settle 
into the oozy mud for the long sleep of winter ♦ Now, 
from the moonlit, weedy pond, they invite the world 
to share in the joy of emancipation* 
