The Greenie Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

A frog, dark green, sat in the gutter
and waited for the frightened flutter
of insects native to these parts.
He heard, that evening, just farts.

He had been raised by his grandmother
together with a younger brother.
His mom had died when she was two
inside the cistern of a loo.

The plumber had installed within
and fastened by a stainless pin
a reservoir that would dispense
blue liquid here to recompense

for odours, stains and other matters
like flying pieces, even splatters.
Yet no one had observed the critter
who spent her days inside the shitter.

Her skin was green, she was depressed
although with man and children blessed.
Postpartum blues had been the rumour,
her neighbour whispered the word tumour.

She was in somewhat of a trance
and took the first and final chance
drank Mrs. Stewart's liquid blue
and found her private Waterloo.

But I digress, back to emissions
they sound in insects like small fissions,
though frogs can never ascertain
if creatures on the windowpane

are moving, ready to be guzzled
or if their rectum is unmuzzled.
The flutter is what Nature chose
it is a way to diagnose.

A thunderbolt now shook the city
what follows really was a pity.
A huge white bird with bright red feet
reached up and grabbed, to taste and eat

the frog, our hero who had not
hatched from his mother's rooftop cot.
Still mourning noisily her death,
he took a long and final breath.

The stork, who had no true compassion
raised up his beak in normal fashion.
But when he opened up his gizzard
the frog became a panicked wizard.

He grabbed and held with sweaty hands
the neck below the spittle glands,
and squeezed the red and straining tube
which had been filled with mucoid lube

to properly facilitate
the frog into an altered state.
Now picture this, and bear with me
can you imagine, do you see

the stork, who was the cruel brute,
was thus deprived of his own shute!
They struggled on right until Dawn
until the insects all had gone.

The frog, like all our living souls
had dreams and principles and goals.
His body though was only free
to breathe and live with ATP.

Now ATP is what each cell
consumes, if not it goes to Hell.
There is, in humans and in frogs
a limit, meaning strength then bogs

and falters badly for a while
perhaps for just another mile.
Then comes the end and you will die.
And this now faced the dark green guy.

He prayed in silence as he knew
that there was nothing else to do.
But, he might hold that iron grip
until he would abandon ship.

That moment saw a flying moth
which looked a bit like Bilroth cloth,
raise lazily from in the gutter
and stretch its double wings to flutter.

They all could see this insect had
slept in or else it was quite mad.
It flew straight in the stork's white face
a Northern Kamikaze ace!

But, hold your horses, reader dear,
big bird had never been in fear
until this unexpected thing
with hair and gristle, double wing,

came out of nowhere as he tried
to get that bloomin' frog inside.
He jumped, propelled by spindly legs
and dropped enroute two dozen eggs.

He also dropped the little one
who quickly landed, then to run
and hide behind the house of Rover
still panting, happy it was over.

This woke big Rover who'd been sleeping
he heard the frog's hysteric weeping
and, being kind, he said hey Greenie,
come here I'm friendly, not a meanie,

so frog went over and was seated
and told the dog he was depleted
and that the incident had been
a miracle. He'd saved his skin.

The dog began to scratch and fuss
and they spent hours to discuss
how to avoid a new disaster.
Then Rover said, 'I am the master,

I do propose you change your diet,
I also think it quite a riot
how anyone can eat those things
with spider legs and see through wings! '

'If you reform your dangerous ways
it is unlikely that the gaze
of any bird will ever see
you as a victim. Stay with me! '

They did get on like long lost lovers
and Rover shared his velvet covers,
so both stayed warm during the night
and in the morning, at first light

the Master of the house would bring
some dog chow plus a chicken wing,
and gravy made from marrow bones
dessert was two small ice cream cones.

There was enough for both of course,
and Master said 'well you old horse,
you found a friend, perhaps for life,
let me go in and tell the wife.'

They all were happy and contented,
the stork though walked around demented.****
He never did recover fully
or act as terrorist and bully.

So, I for one am gratified
that Rover took the button-eyed
and down and out and almost dead
green frog as mate into his bed.

As friendship is becoming rare
we need to cuddle and to share.
Some day there may not be a friend
to share our doghouse, in the end.