The Frogs

puffing up the puffs,

Come out of the shadows,

Jumping, the frogs.

The light dazzles them. In a rumble that lands,

Howls the bullfrog:

- "My father went to war!"

- "It was not!" - "He was!" - "It wasn't!". The Cooper Toad,

watery Parnassian,

He says:-"My songbook

It is well hammered. See how cousin

On eating the gaps!

What art! And I never rhyme

The cognate terms. My verse is good

Fruit without chaff.

I rhyme with

Supporting consonants. Goes for fifty years

I gave them the norm:

reduced without damage

The shapes the shape. Claim the shoe store

In skeptical reviews:

There is no more poetry,

But there are poetic arts..." Howls the bullfrog:

- "My father was king!"- "Was!"

- "It was not!" - "He was!" - "It wasn't!"

The Cooper Toad:

- Great art is like

Jeweler work. Or statuary.

All that is beautiful,

All that is different,

Sings on the hammer". Others, kite frogs

(An evil in itself fits),

They speak for the guts,

- "Know!" - "Do not know!" - "You know!". Far from that scream,

There where denser

the endless night

Clothes the immense shadow; There, fled from the world,

No glory, no faith,

in the deep perau

And lonely, is it that you sob,

cold spell,

Cururu frog

From the riverside...