Mr. Toad Tells His Story

 We had a terrific thunderstorm over Saturday night, and then, before dawn, a visitor.

Can you tell me, Mr. Toad,

just where do your kind reside

when the waters have not flowed;

just where do you hide?

To the river it's a mile,

up the mesa it's four hundred feet,

so tell me, and we'll share a smile...

just how do we meet?

The Toad, he seems to meet my eyes,

but Ribbit's all he says.

Something 'bout him does look wise,

and as I hold his gaze

I find that there is wonder here

as clouds pass and the stars appear.

Sylvia tried to eat a toad. The toad was offended, and hopped away hissing, and Sylvia figured she'd stick to ice cream.

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