King Toad

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King Toad

Down near the swamp

a bit to the left of a big

cypress tree, a favored

fishing hole, well hid,

overflowing with life

to be hooked or seen.

Many hours day, night

I spent there in peace.

Twas birthday thirteen

when king toad came,

nothing biting, save me.

What say ye young man?

regal, fat frog did croak.

To my great surprise, the

green, slimy critter spoke.

How’s the fishing, catching

anything but that tiny bream?

“I’m sorry frog but are

you really talking to me?”

Well of course lad, I can

speak, and chatting with

you seems prudent to me.

Answer all my questions,

and I’ll give you three free?

“Sir toad, this is strange

to be talking with a frog

while sitting here fishing.”

Answer my questions, my

questions you must answer,

he recast, croaking testily.

“What free three do I win,

if your conditions are met?”

Forgive me for being unclear.

You’ll be granted three wishes.

I’ve already asked you two and

one more will equal my three.

Without hesitation I said,

“What I say frog is, nice

to make your acquaintance.

How are thee this fine day?”

Smart lad, you may well win.

Happy to know you, I’m fine.

“The fishing is awfully slow

this little bream’s all that I’ve

caught for the table tonight.”

Excellent responses from you,

but know question three is a

tad more tricky, for wishes are

hard to come by even from me.

Which is more important

the doughnut or the hole?

Baiting hook, provided

pause while thinking of

a clever return to this.

“I believe I know what the

correct rebuttal should be.

As you jump pond to pond,

whatever may be your goal

keep your big eyes upon the

donut and not upon the hole.

Now, for my first wish, I’d

like to see those chunky legs

fried and on our table tonight.”

King frog was speechless and

with a loud, harsh croak he leapt

into the pond, diving from sight.

You can’t trust those dang toads,

much less royal well-spoken ones.

Copyright © 2016 Ron Shaw

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