Where the Cattails Grow

By Lisa Alvir

Where the Cattails Grow
Lisa Alvir


Dedicated to all my family & friends & especially to:

Connie Tyree
My explorer friend, who has journeyed with me through so many wonderful places where cattails grow.

Copyright © 2005 by Lisa Alvir Grand Junction, CO USA


And God created great whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind...and God saw that it was good. Genesis 1:21


Where the Cattails Grow


here is a little pond where the cattails grow Where Russian Olive branches bend real low

Over clear blue water that ripples and flows Against the muddy banks where the cattails grow. Around this little pond, our loving God has made All sorts of little creatures that hop and play Along the grassy slopes on hot summer days Around this little pond that God has made.

There are fish in the water and little frogs in the grass That skitter away as I walk past. They slip beneath the surface, silent and fast, So I can never catch these little frogs in the grass.

I know that they think they are hiding from me, These small quiet creatures in the tall green reeds. There’s one in the shadows, but I can see, The tip of his nose as he hides from me.


Sometimes I’m amazed by one brave little frog, Who sleeps in the sun on his nice warm log. He doesn’t appear to be frightened at all And snores quite loudly, this brave little frog.

And those big old bullfrogs, so hungry and fat, Just sit all day eating bugs and gnats That come buzzing by, and I wonder if that Is why those bullfrogs are so big and fat?


There’s one frog I know who is very sly. The bugs on the wind, swoop down from the sky, buzzing in past his still, cunning eyes, Then...oops…dinner. I told you he was sly!

As the cattails rustle in the warm summer breeze, A spotted green frog smiles up at me From the squishy brown mud underneath the trees, Gently swaying in the warm summer breeze.


And in the evening quiet when it’s very still, You can hear them croaking and singing until The evening sun sinks low below the hills, In the evening quiet, when it’s very still.

Around this little pond where the cattails grow, God claps his hands and hums real low As His little creatures sing of how they love it so Along the muddy banks where the cattails grow.


The End

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