Croooak!

I knew a sweet girl who sang like a frog;
She took her to market to buy her a log.
For frogs she knew, croak at their best
When they’re at home and are merriest.

She threw her log in a small, small lake;
Water-drops splashed her–“Not our mistake!”
She got so drenched she pouted, cried,
But all the lost-leg snails sighed.

They sighed for joy no croak they’d hear,
Yet they cried, too, to see her tears.
Slow, slow they ran to her front door,
Implored her croak like once before.

All timid, then, she ‘gan to sing,
And oh! what a note did clearly ring!
The lost-leg snails flopped up-side-down
At hearing such a beautiful sound!

The log for joy did spin and spray;
The little lake shouted, “A-Okay!”
The drops that drenched, now clouds that glide,
Felt tears of love down soft cheeks slide.

But lazy she, who sang one note,
Lies Queen of lake on lazy boat.
Still, we have mem’ries, oh, so deep,
Of that bright song that shall not sleep.

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