“A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and a toad”

Upon a sunlit patch behind the shed,  
A loaf of bread, still warm and thickly sliced,  
Lies cushioned in a napkin, heavenly spread  
Beside a jug of wine, deep red, precisely iced.  
The picnic blanket stirs, perfumed by thyme,  
While marble crumbs attract the ants, who  
March in time.

But mid this rustic feast, what visitor hops near?  
A toad, with dappled skin and blinking golden eyes,  
Emerges through the dewy grass, with comic cheer,  
The greenest sage in humble, earthy guise.  
He pauses, curious, then blinks—a silent host,  
Content to watch the revelry, or boast  
A song (if toads could croon) of summer days,  
Of rain-smelled soil and shadowed forest maze.

The evening deepens, soft and grapevine sweet—  
The loaf diminishes, the jug left light,  
Yet in the company of three, the meal’s complete:  
Bread for comfort, wine for gentle night,  
And the toad, who listens well and never says goodbye—  
A quiet guest with silent wisdom in his eye.

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