Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

Surprised by my tasting the spring, a golden frog

leaps to the bank. He flies to froggy places,

his ankle-joints stretch the moment.

A puddock from his pop-eyes to his paddle-toes,

he darts out of the vital pool. Immortal frog,

to see him so healthy is a sure sign

the spring will do the same for me.

He hops past my shoulder into the paddy-pipes,

the reed-bed pockets frog. He vanishes through,

each spear of rush keeps its own drop of dew.