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By a quiet little stream on an old mossy log;
Looking very forlorn, sat a little green frog;
He’d a sleek speckled back, and two bright yellow eyes,
And when dining, selected the choicest of flies.
The sun was so hot, he scarce opened his eyes,
Far too lazy to stir, let alone watch for flies,
He was nodding, and nodding, and almost asleep,
When a voice in the branches chirped, ‘Froggie, cheep, cheep!’
‘You’d better take care,’ piped the bird to the frog,
‘In the water you’ll be if you fall off that log.
Can’t you see that the streamlet is up to the brim?’
Croaked the froggie, ‘What odds! You forget I can swim!’
Then the froggie looked up at the bird perched so high
On a bough that to him seemed to reach to the sky;
So he croaked to the bird: ‘If you fall you will die!’
Chirped the birdie, ‘What odds! You forget I can fly!’
