A Frog Ped Down the Path

A frog ped down the path and searched,
     Upon his froggy quest,
For means of life and trails unseen
     That put frogs to the test.
And for occasions such as these,
     He wore his froggy best.

For every puddled mud pie tred
     And every pant rip sew,
His froggy best was thus distressed–
     His curses to and fro.
“Shacket! Cosplay! Edutainment!”
     And somesuch portmanteau.

And then, purely by chance, mind you,
     A figure, lank, was stood.
A chicken walked before him there,
     Equipped with chartreuse hood.
“State your want, impromptu poultry.
     I would depart this wood.”

The chicken placed its eye below
     And stated with a cluck,
“If, one day, you’re to have your would,
     You needn’t any luck.
Defenestrate the obstinate.
     Pertly close out your ruck.”

Must hens always speak in riddles
     And stretch the rhymes of words?
Frogs always knew it wasn’t wise
     To ask advice of birds.
Indeed, compared to this frog’s brain,
     The hen’s was split in thirds.

Now the frog (quite pleased with itself)
     Went quick to make its leave.
The mim hen simply shook its head
     And granted the reprieve.
How could chickens conceal things when
     They haven’t any sleeves?

The frog again ped down the path
     And searched for food to eat.
He happened into swampy lands,
     Filled with mossy peat,
Where flitty flies must surely live–
     A scrumptious little treat.

The marsh was moist as moist could be.
     The reeds were wet as well.
But why there were no other frogs,
     This frog just could not tell.
It was like a froggy heaven–
     A froggy anti-hell.

But then the answer came forward.
     What slinked throughout the bog,
Was formidable and vicous
     And breathed a heavy smog,
Its body ferocious dragon,
     Its head ferocious frog.

Whether this beast ate frogs or not,
     You really couldn’t say,
But this frog knew one thing for sure.
     It’s time to sneak away.
Or slink, or run, or crawl, or lurk
     Or maybe even pray.

However, what the monster did
     Would have surprised the wise.
It hopped on a bald cypress stump
     And closed its monstrous eyes.
That frogon played a mean guitar.
     It strummed for dragon flies.

Maybe frogons are not so bad,
     The little frog so thought
As it ran away speedily
     Til legs were sore and taut.
And only when the swamp was far
     Was froggy breath then caught.

The frog ped down the path with woe,
     Soreness from feet to cap.
Its travels had gone on for weeks
     Without a single nap.
It almost missed the frogon beast,
     Missed almost chicken yap.

It passed the pumpolumpus pass
     It skipped the shrieking sea.
It even lept above the great
     Weeping willow tree.
And that is no small feat, my friend,
     I think you would agree.

Then, the frog saw it down the way–
     The ending of the path.
After all the hardened travels,
     Was this the aftermath?
For all that lay was air and space,
     Below, a cloudy bath.

The frog wondered what it had done
     To deserve this outcome.
There was no going forward now.
     The cliffs were simply plumb.
It didn’t even know from which
     Footpath it had come from.

It sat and thought there for a while
     And stared into the blue.
Until its froggy features lit.
     It knew just what to do!
It quickly dropped its froggy hat.
     It dropped its lead horseshoe.

The frog ped right up to the edge,
     Then stopped to take the view.
It closed its eyes and fell forward
     Til something happened new.
You may or may not believe this one,
     But that frog lept. And flew.