Under the spreading apple trees,

down by the sun-sprinkled pond,

the birds were busy, enjoying themselves –

singing

and paddling

and fluttering their wings.

 

Blackbird was trilling and splash-spilling water;

Magpie was dipping and tipping her head;

And Robin was gobbling a grub in the grass.

 

All of a sudden, up popped frog.

“Oi,” he grumped.

“Get out of my pond.”

The birds were startled.

“How rude,” they declared.

“Oh!” snorted frog, with a sour smile,

“I can be ruder still if you don’t shoo.”

 

Blackbird swiftly scooped away;

Magpie ch-kad in a swirling spray;

And Robin glared before darting away.

 

Under the spreading apple trees,

down in the sun-sprinkled pond,

the beasties were busy enjoying themselves –

swimming

and diving

and blowing bright bubbles.

 

Newt was zipping, and nipping at bugs;

Snail rolled over – sun-warming her tummy;

And skater was scrapping with fisticuffs and feet.

 

All of a sudden, up popped frog.

“Oi,” he grumped.

“Get out of my pond.”

 

 

 

The beasties were startled.

“How rude,” they declared.

“Oh!” snorted frog, with a sour smile,

“I can be ruder still if you don’t shoo.”

 

Newt whipped his tail, and hid in the flowers;

Snail frothed and bubbled and slimed through the grass;

And pond skater scowled and scurried under leaves.

 

Under the spreading apple trees,

down by the sun-sprinkled pond,

all was quiet, all was a hush.

 

Pretty frog hopped, soft through wet weeds.

She sat and she sniffed and she smelled the water.

But nothing stirred. All was still.

“Where are the birds? Where are the beasties?

Most odd. Most strange. Not right,” she thought.

 

All of a sudden, up popped frog.

“Oi,” he grumped.

“Get out of my pond.”

 

Pretty frog was startled.

“How rude,” she declared.

“Oh!” snorted frog, with a sour smile,

“I can be ruder still if you don’t shoo.”

 

But then he stopped. And then he blinked.

“I didn’t know that you were a frog. “

He smiled and croaked.

“A pretty frog. The loveliest frog.

Come and be the queen in my pond.

You can eat all the flies that your heart desires

and your froggy tongue can catch.”

 

 

 

“I wouldn’t stay here for all the flies that buzz.”

She sniffed and rolled her eyes.

“Your pond is smelly; it’s slimy and stale.”

“Then what must I do?

I want you to stay.”

“You mustn’t be rude and chase everyone away.”

 

He gurgled and groaned, “This isn’t fair.”

But he huffed and he puffed

and he blew a great croak.

“Croak! Come back birds. Come back beasties.

I’ll let you stay. I’ll let you play.”

 

Blackbird fluttered and began to sing;

Magpie came cha-karing in,

And Robin hopped on a juicy worm.

 

Soon newt dived in for a zipping swim,

And snail slithered over and warmed in the sun,

While skater squabbled and fought everyone.

 

Now on a warm, sunny summer’s day,

Frog and his queen watch their froglets play.

He’s grown rather fond of his lively pond,

And he smiles. And gulps. And croaks, “Croak!”

 

And the froglets call out –

“This is our pond – our sparkly pond!”

And they frisk and they frolic –

and they squeal with delight.

 

Under the spreading apple trees,

down by the sun-sprinkled pond,

everyone was busy, enjoying themselves.

 

© Charlie Wilson 2013