Frogs

 

 When I was in 6th grade, each one of us made a presentation about a subject that was of interest to us. Ray Woodward, sat in back of me in class, and I never thought much of him until he made his presentation. He told us about his uncle, who was lost in the Hindenburg disaster, and even though it made a strong presentation, what I remember most is the poem he chose to share with us. I never forgot the poem, and here it is:

What a wonderful bird the frog are.

When he stand he sit almost.

When he hop he fly almost.

He ain't got no sense.

He ain't got no tail hardly either.

When he sit, he sit on what he ain't got almost.