I Am Frog

This is a silly one. 10 minute prompt on writing a poem about frogs (Stuart’s doing). Not quite a poem, not quite a story.

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Ribbit ribbit.
What joy it is to be a frog!
All wibbly nibbly and wet splashy lily paddling around my Pond.
My bowed legs are strong and sturdy, but rubber they may seem to a Yellow Man from the East.
Mother Wind sends a breeze through the summer air and the birds, they are a singing.
I leap to and fro, with not a care in the world.

Pink flowers adorn my castle.
These buoyant leaves of beauty and grace are my home, or at least my nestling spot for the afternoon.
I lay my head down on its veiny vibrancy, reminding myself that the Yellow Light in the sky is what feeds them and makes them grow.
A snap of my tongue as the scent of a nearby fly makes me salivate. Swallow the fly.
They’re salty and crunchy, strong in smell. Flies usually get into too much trouble, dirty creatures that they be!

I am Frog, the cleanest of them all!
I live in the water and my wet, slippery membrane protects me from the woes and follies of the everyday foe.
Splish splash!
A little trail of water beads that lay the land of my grandiose path.
My webbed toes and webbed hands pitter-patter with a consistent rhythm, nature’s gentle percussion.

My belly is round, pregnant, ripe like a melon. My skin, soft and supple.
Bullied in school for my wideset eyes and flaring nostrils, but my self-esteem blooms in adulthood as my throat widens.
I sing like a fiend, deep and guttural.
The princesses swoon and they wait for a kiss.
I feel myself melt in their soft sweet palms.