Each night now, since the rains last week,
The frogs keep croaking in the creek.
I hear, ere sleep, the medleyed notes
Escape the wet, moon-gleaming throats.
There’s one old bullfrog’s base that comes
Up from the mudbanks by the gums . . .
Last night, while drifting off, I heard
That sound, and it recurred — recurred,
Insufferably loud and harsh,
From giant reed-growths in a marsh,
Where starlight streamed insipid on
The slime of Labyrinthodon.
Rex Ingamells, Forgotten People, F. W. Preece & Sons, Adelaide, 1936, page 37