Beside The Chapel Door (Poetry)

So still, its colours merged with the cool stone
a frog sat underneath the wrought iron frame
beside the door, where, bearing just one name
a small white card stood for the man we’d known.

Unblinking, in late February sun
the creature like a carving labelled with
a cast-off name — recycled — one last gift
in passing — an allusion ( half in fun )

to change — and how the seasons have their way
with all of us, while whimsy resurrects
some old belief — confounding intellect
as omens offer hope at close of play.