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If my bait caught no fish,
my technique sorely lacking,
frog legs would taste mighty good.
That set my lips a’smacking.

Hopping off from pad to pad,
I saw green froggy headed home.
And, there I was beside the pond
no catch yet of my own.

What made me think I wanted him,
Slimy little critter,
to catch with my bare hands
and fry up like a fritter?

If he were to be my meal,
could I do what it takes?
Could I clean and cut him up
for tasty little frog-cakes?

The pond gave me no turtle,
no crawfish from the hole.
No crab or even clams,
no fish on my pole.

With nothing left for my pan,
that frog had looked so fine.
Oh, well! Now he was gone.
No frog legs sautéed in wine.

There must have been a froggy clan
to which he hopped on legs so strong.
I guess I didn’t really want
those frog legs, all along.

By The_Pip2

© 2019 The_Pip2 (All rights reserved)


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