“The Royal Frog from Squoze,” Friend, Aug.–Sept. 1985, 28–29
Once—and not so long ago—
The Royal Frog from Squoze,
While romping through his royal yard,
Fell upon his nose.
He croaked, “Kerchoo!” His warts turned blue.
His royal face was squashed!
A honeybee cried, “Oh, dear me!”
Another cried, “Pishposh!”
“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” his frogship wailed.
“Whatever will I do?
I’ve squashed the royal nose from Squoze
And turned my warts all blue!”
Now, Princess Frog was all agog.
She whispered, “Froggy, dear,
I have a plan.” And she began
To buzz into his ear.
“Go out into the royal pond,”
She told the lordly pet,
“And sit upon a royal rock
Until the sun has set.
“Its royal rays will bleach your warts
And turn them back to green.
Your flattened nose will soon pop out,
And all will be serene.”
His frogship blinked his royal eyes.
He bowed his royal head.
He thanked the royal Princess Frog;
Then to the pond he sped.
He found a rock all flat and smooth,
And there he settled down.
He watched the sun sail overhead.
He watched it sinking down.
He’s been there now for eight long years.
He’s grown by leaps and bounds.
His nose is still quite firmly squashed.
His warts have all turned brown.
But there he sits, his froggyship,
Still staring at the sky,
Though now and then his tongue shoots out
To catch a passing fly.
He waits upon the royal rock.
The royal days roll on.
He says he’ll stay until the day
All royal hope is gone.
His patience is of lordly note—
Of that you must agree—
For who but royal frogs from Squoze
Could sit so patiently?
So if some day you pass his way,
Please wish his frogship well
And say you think his royal warts
And flattened nose look swell.
For in these days of hasty ways,
His frogship’s in us all.
For no one knows, here or in Squoze,
Who might be next to fall.