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.