The Frog

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On tidying the garden, I came across a frog
Sitting there serenely on a decomposing log
It had a vary vacant look, as if it didn’t know
Quite what is was meant to do, or where it’s meant to go

I carried on my tidying, occasionally had a glance
To see if it was still around, among the wood and plants
And there it was, so motionless, it really was a joke
As still as death, on rotting wood, with an occasional croak

And when my job was almost done, it took me by surprise
It did a little hop and jump, right before my eyes
It leapt over the undergrowth, into a little bog
A home from home amphibian, my friend, the little frog

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