God of small frogs

O hovering God of artless prayers
and little kids in underwear
running in rain and mud, tongues out – 
like funny little frogs – 
to catch the falling drops, squealing, secure
in tiny worlds whose atmosphere 
is parents' gaze – lust can't step here,
nor angel pride, nor growing up
bought at the cost of torn-up trust –  
please keep on watching me today
just like my mother used to do
and when I look up to be sure you’re there
please smile.