To the editor:This is a poem my grandson, Austin Wicker, age 13, wrote. He can say it from memory. I wish I could. I thought when it's hot and the frogs are speaking out at night you might see its need.
The Frog Who Feared Water
Hip. Hop. Hip. Hop. Finally I'm out of that water.
I'm scared of it so, that wet liquid clutter.
I got out as soon as I could to breathe the sweet air.
A tadpole I was. Leave the water? I would not dare.
As I got out, I was joyful and free.
I looked out at the bugs, flies and bees.
I hopped about the forest. What a beautiful sight.
Then I heard a roaring with quick flashes of light.
I felt the water once again. I looked for shelter to hide.
I only had a leaf to protect me -- not a scratch, I'm fine.
I just now noticed: The water is beautiful. Why, it's just divine.
Mrs. PAT MUELLER, Cape Girardeau