The frog and Michelangelo

As a frog I cannot paint or
draw but here below the water
I hear the faint echo of
Michelangelo's song. How
long left for my kind?-can
man not use art to find
perspective?. I feel the
rush from the artistry of
natures brush and despair
at the constant crush from
the machines of man. I have
seen the ghosts walking across
the waters here whispering names
into the ghostly flames of candles
they pass the spirits of the hunted-
each with a claim -a right to life.
Michelangelo's spectre visited me and
told of how he walks across the Sistine
chapel roof letting his tears fall
through to the eyes of the faces on
the ceiling, he comes here to gather
fruit that falls from the phantom trees.