The Toad

I was outside smoking one night and saw something, this is what I wrote when I came back in.

“Shoo,” I say in a quiet voice
Wondering why it sits and waits
When there are so many villains in the world
But this young toad knows not of them
I wonder why he sits, not caring about the world
As I ponder all the bad things that could happen to the poor creature
“Shoo, young Toad,” I say once more
I eventually nudge him gently with the toe of my shoe
The cats and other nocturnal creatures ready to make of him a snack
I am wanting him to hop away
And yet he merely crumbles to ash
Nothing but a dry leaf in the dark after all