Monday, February 14, 2011
Once there was this frog
lived down a well, his bog.
All his life he sat and stared
as time passed his dark laird.
Above him he could espy
a hole of light in the sky.
Was he bored? Was he lonely?
No one asked; the answer his only.
Then one fine morning by chance
a maiden came by happenstance.
Their eyes met as she wept.
Her tears fell like rain. He leapt
to catch its sweet sad taste,
a wine to savor, not to waste.
The rain of tears soon ceased.
Then two stones fell upon the beast.
Quick was the frog to catch
this pair. And in his snatch
his tongue did greedy swallow
this (he thought) was marshmallow.
Sated, he looked up and beyond,
only to find the lady had gone.
He groaned. Unable to thank
the fair maiden he sank
in despair; despondent in the deep
he threw up. After a long sleep
he awoke a bowed, beaten bloke
and vomited all that food he took.
Out from his mouth in his expire
two gems fell: one was a ruby,
Posted by Will Windhover at 9:39 PM