On a shadowy, cloud-hung, darksome night,

Keeping quiet and out of sight,

Dad and I sat by a woodland lake,

Listening to night creatures now awake.

We heard an old beaver slap down his tail

And a lonely loon give his low, sad wail.

Peepers and owls in a moss-hung tree

Chatted in quivering harmony.

Then when I shined my light on some logs,

We heard the splash of hundreds of frogs,

Like a troop of boys at a Boy Scout retreat,

Doing belly flops with great flippered feet.

I took my dad’s hand and turned out my light;

Then we listened in darkness far into the night.