OK, it’s not something I ate or my youthful wild days catching up with me; no – it’s not me taking turns to be grumpy, and jumpy and mean-looking; no, it’s not me dissatisfied with my place in the food chain or my place in the wild scheme of things; or just being unhappy about the effects on me in the wild accidents of evolution or being a victim of Irrational Creation or just unhappy in an existential sort of way asking questions like: What’s the meaning of it all? Or Is there a Heaven for Frogs or are we just Dinner for the French? and finding it all a Cruel Joke played on us frogs by some Celestial Omnipotent Frog Being; no, nor is it for want of ****** partners - I mean I do croak-sing well enough and I mount well enough and get partners often enough during the mating season; no, it’s not that at all… I don’t know…I’m just a frog and it’s the nature of frog existence, I guess…
this poem is based on the painting THE FROG by Getsuju, Japan, late 18th-early 19th century...Listen to what the frog has to say...