Bullfrog

bullfrog in a glass

Bullfrog drinking by a stream;

Talking as if in a dream.

Cocktail hour has arrived;

Looks like she has survived.

To talk about others she has no shame;

No mirrors then to take the blame.

For if she took one long, long look;

She would see the book;

About ugly faces;

lack of graces.

The old bullfrog sits and sings;

of birdie friends and other things.

She sends her barking way off tune;

Like some warped and ugly balloon.

It floats above her swamp and home,

Over hills and dales, it will roam.

Our ears will shrivel up in pain

and not one friend will remain.

She has no way to see

the way she turned out to be.

Vicious and profane

Nothing will remain

Of a soul.

9 comments

  1. marilynmunrow · August 9, 2015

    Reblogged this on Marilyn Munrow and commented:
    Oh my goodness fabulous.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. M&M, Inc. · August 9, 2015

    Reblogged this on Phoenix Rising From the Ashes and commented:
    Your poems are so full of deep meanings, FABULOUS !!!!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Opinionated Man · August 26, 2015

    I became lost around “cocktail hour” lol. 😉
    I enjoyed your poetry!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Pingback: Bullfrog | galesmind

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