His body now a grey dry shell, the hapless Frog lies low—
The full tale of his short, cruel life no one shall ever know.
What joyous days in woodland glades may he one Spring have had?
What softly sculling tadpoles dear now miss their lissome dad?
And who was it so carelessly the double door did prop?
That curious Frog into the warm and heated space could hop?
In vast uncharted carpet wastes the Frog I fear was trapped
No fly, no mite, no toothsome bug, into his maw there happed.
And how at last, his strength low ebbed, the thwarted Frog did scale
The easeled board, to hide amongst the ads for serum sales?
No insight, truly, have we now, into his wretched fate
Nothing but the tiny corpse the winter did dessicate.
Comments
Ode to a Toad
Teehee! Nicely done! And my compliments to the frog.
Here’s a poem I’ve known since I was a lad. I don’t know who wrote it. May have been my grandfather; he’s been known to write the occasional book of silly rhymes. In fact, if I remember correctly, he once made little wall plaques in his workship with real squished toad skins, tire tracks and all, and this poem etched underneath. He gave them to people for Christmas.
Ode to a Toad
Oh dirty, rotten little toad,
Why did you try to cross the road?
Did you not perceive the truck,
That was to be your worst bad luck?
You gathered for a mighty jump,
The driver didn’t feel the bump.
His tire squished your little head,
You rotten toad, you sure are dead.