THE PARABLE OF THE TALKING FROG, Love Email, 6

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THE PARABLE OF THE TALKING FROG,
Love Email, 6

My Dear Etta,

Having a beautiful woman on one’s arm is no small treasure, to be sure. Many men aspire to have such a trophy in their life; it strengthens their vanity, and makes them look important in other people's eyes and puffs up their pride. My being with you had similar impact on my personality. Your beauty, darling, has had the effect of further swelling and already swollen head. Yet allow me this story, or parable that I once heard.

There was an elderly Swedish university professor. In addition to his teaching responsibilities, he was a medical doctor. He was wise and very learned. He had spent many years at study and his students held him in high esteem. Everyone considered him a good man and turned to him for advice on proper conduct. Through his knowledge of medicine and strength of his experience he had saved many lives. Many regarded him as having a power of example. Although his tenure lasted almost to the end of the twentieth century, his dress was old-fashioned. He wore an long, black coat, a frock even during the summer.

One day when he was walking through woods outside his university somewhere in Sweden, he noticed a frog frantically hopping about his feet. When he stopped to observe this frog, he was startled. He believed he might be hearing that the animal, that the frog was speaking to him. The voice was tiny and barely audible. He picked up the frog and gave it the pedestal of his flattened hand. Sure enough the frog was speaking to him, and, when the Doctor lifted his hand closer to his hearing, he heard the frog. Its vocalization was feminine and clearly pleading, "Kiss me! Kiss me! I am a beautiful princess! A jealous sorcerer cursed me into this animal form, because I had refused his advances. If you kiss me, I shall be transformed back to my original human shape. I am a beauty, a princess! If you kiss me, I shall be yours. I shall love you forever."

When the Doctor hesitated to implant the kiss, and instead began to ponder the situation, the frog repeated the refrain in the sweetest, most heart rendering supplication. But the

Doctor simply placed the frog into his long coat's side pocket. He then carefully secured the pocket's flap.

The Doctor proceeded down the path, but he could still hear the frog's pleas. Over and again. he could hear the frog, though its voice was muffled as it emerged from his pocket. The frog sorrowfully continued, “Kiss me! Kiss me!” And again, “Kiss me! Kiss me! I am a beautiful princess! A sorcerer, mad because I rejected his advances, cursed me into this awful shape. If you kiss me I shall be transformed back to my original human shape. I am beautiful. If you kiss me, I shall be yours. I shall l love you forever.”

Finally the Doctor stopped. He removed the frog from his frock's pocket and, before the frog could again return its earnest petition, he said.“Frankly,” he said to the frog, which was now in his hand and facing his face, "at this stage of my life, I must insist, I would rather have a talking frog!" He repeated his estimation, although, as he said it, greater resolve appeared in his voice: “Yes, at this stage of my life, I would rather have a talking frog!"

He then returned the frog to his coat's pocket, carefully secured the flap, and continued down the path back to the university.

He was wise and very learned. He had spent many years at library study and at his medical practice. He was a professor at the university. Everyone considered him righteous and turned to him for advice on proper conduct. Through his practice of medicine and his strength of character he had saved many lives.

I am most truly yours, S

WINTER LOVE MELANCHOLY, Love Email, 5

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WINTER LOVE MELANCHOLY, 
Love Email, 5,
Originally composed, 8 January 2008


Dear Etta,

Forgive me. I write, while I wear my heart on my sleeve. The Holidays have come and gone, and the last few days have been ice and wind.

I have no idea what the future holds.

I think of you often. Now we have been apart for three long months. I am anticipating your return home and into my arms again, but have some trepidation because I surely can not read your mind nor really know that you will keep your word.

Still I keep your memory vital. Your voice resides in my ears. The picture of your loveliness is in my mind today, fresh. That image remains the same today as it was yesterday, when I had thought about you throughout the hours, and the same as it was the day before, and so many of the other days, the other days which had gone before yesterday.

I write this poem for you.
WINTER LOVE MELANCHOLY


The seabirds cry by the sea,
Their songs are sad,
Their refrains freight my melancholy.

And in the distance a fog horn,
It, too, sounds a plaintive note;
It repeatedly revives my sorrow.

There is a damp, hard, winter wind.
It beats on me, causes terrible chill.

The nights remain very long;
I fear that I may have lost forever 
The memory of how the summer sun warms. 

And now my mind succumbs to the foreboding;
Oh I dread that I might never kiss you again!


I hope to have you here with me, again, shortly, your warmth in my arms, your smile illuminating the depths of my bosom, and the rooms of our house once more.

I am very truly yours, S.