To a Hop’ Toad

Hello, Mister Hop’ Toad, how do you do!

     If you had not have gotten under foot

     And nearly met your death beneath my boot,

‘Tis doubtful if I would have noticed you,

So very small are you and dull your hue.

     Whence came you, Hopper, and what for, pray tell,

     You are not beautiful you know right well,

     And as for poetry of motion, whew!

You bring me naught but warts, although

     They say on bugs you are exceeding game,

     But I have never seen you catch the same.

You are a croaker; all you do or know

     Is in the line of swelling up, so go

     And hop back to the hop-bed whence you came.

June 21, ‘07