To you oh amphibious one do I write

this tribute most deserving

To he who is either frog or toad,

depending on exactly what mode

A human being classifies your

mysterious and bulbous eyes

Depending on the shape or size

 

The scaly skin you wear like a mink coat 

You are the aristocracy of the moat

The pond or lake with green and slimy frill

Where your peers and servants can be found

Before it's time to go to ground

For tea and bed, to dry off and lie still

Among other slimy bufonidae

In clumps with all their finery in stark array

 

Back to natal pond is where you go

When it's time to breed, you make the call

To your kin and servants one and all

Make sure they get the process right

To pair not up with relatives or a fight

Could ensue and jeopardise your regal self

 

As top toad, you wouldn't wish

to be left on the shelf

Not to find a royal match

to make some tadpoles batch by batch

 

But where do you abide

when you leave the slime?

The acrid smells and the quicksand behind?

Is it a palace, a mansion, or toady heaven?

Do you gather together

in groups of ten or eleven?

 

Some people suggest that a group of you

Are called knots or lumps, even nests too

But unlike some character in a famous story

You have no need to be popular or gory

Or even funny as your skin is not

frog like all gooey and runny 

 

But royal warts are on your back

Defining from exactly where you're at

You're a toad not a frog

we've established that

 

So yes, your worshipful vainglorious toad

In your honour, I dedicate this tribute by Ode!