Divvying the bog
with its phlegmy flail
the wobbly pollywog
digesting its tail,
into a muscular frog
gears its porous omnibus
towards a log with little fuss
hauls itself up on hardening limbs
into night croaks
to no appreciable applause
cocks its spring
leaps, nabs a bug on the wing
and in the midst of splash slips, a days work
done, back into the syrupy, methane-breathing murk.
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