DOWN BY THE HOLLOW
Down by the hollow, in the morsey, gorsey bog,
Lay a big round, green and brown, friendly freckled Frog,
There he lay, night and day,
In his bumpy, lumpy way,
And he’d jibber and he’d jabber to a lone, laconic Log.
“Garumph!” he would groat, from his pollywoggy throat,
While the Log would just float like a bibble-bobble boat,
Be it sunny, be it shady,
Never ever answer made he,
But would wallow in the hollow of the shallow undergrowth.
Now, that Frog, he understood that the Log was made of wood,
And that all his rattle prattle might not do him any good,
But it didn’t seem to matter,
For the Frog so loved to chatter,
That he cared not if the other understood, or even could.
While quite opposite, the Log, who lay soaking in the sog,
Loved to listen listen listen to the prattle of the Frog,
So, in symbiotic way,
They each shared a perfect day;
One kept talking, one kept listening, both kept happy in the bog.