In Walden Pond there lived a frog,
A wise and pithy sprite.
Who spent his days on marshial law,
Philosophized at night.

He was the king of bullrush shore –
Since Daddy late had croaked.
A voice of quiet rebel roar –
With transcendental folk,

One day a pretty princess came,
And kissed him on the lip.
And the prince – nee frog, grew in fame,
He went from hop to hip.

Surrounded then by dukes and clowns,
Obedient and civil.
Who followed him with frosty frowns,
He tired of their drivel.

The crown sat hard upon his head,
Reluctant demafrog.
He yearned for web sites, waterbeds,
And life back in the bog.

He sighed and stared at all he had,
In his comely castle.
But dreamed about another pad –
Sans the regal hassle.

At long last feelings cried aloud,
For the desperate mass,
“My dear, I liked my former crowd –
I wish you’d kissed my ass.”

Copyright © 2003 Paul Heno