Oh Well

No offence taken if you look down on our town as you pass by,
deserted, unremarkable, crumbling, and contracting every year.
But please remember that there's great empty miles of 'em
right across the ripples of the map, where you can squint
all you like and never find a name. Mister Frog, you ask,
exasperated, why do you stay here, when all of your friends
have left for the bigger, better cities, gone to hear the night
music of crowds and the fireworks of electric lights?
Don't you ever want to get away and arrive,
Mister Frog? Maybe make some waves?
Oh, it is not that bad - and sure I've seen the sea,
even if mostly on tv.
Heck, I admit I'd rather comfortably outlive Alexander
than march over horizons and make the whole world known.
See, I like my home, safe and cool deep in its bricks.
I'll understand if you have to lift your nose, adjust your glasses
and sniff that this here isn't really much of anything,
when it's all happening in a ocean of importance out there.
I don't mind.
It's the greatest relief to be an unimportant Mister Frog
far from the rush and the roar, free to be small and forgotten.
And at night it's the loveliest thing – it gets so quiet that
you just look up and see all the most wondrous worlds
you could ever want.