She was a toad, oh yes,
Not inside but out,
She croaked 1, 2, 3,
And her students began to shout

“Shh! Shh!” she told them,
Spit flying as she spoke,
“Little toads shouldn’t shout,
Only croak, croak, croak!”

“Now after 2, 4, 6,
You shall repeat after me,
Beautiful music we shall make,
This you shall see.

So “croak” the teacher bolted,
And “croak” the students went,
On and on they continued,
Till along came a gent.

“Shh! Shh!” the teacher told them,
“We mustn’t be caught,
But if we are, oh, be weary,
For a soup may be made from the lot!”

So one by one,
Each croak fell silent,
The gent walked on by,
Appearing not to be violent.

He stopped quite suddenly,
As if sniffing the air,
But he continued right after,
He had stopped to fix his hair.

“Alright little toads,”
Said the teacher in the clear,
“Let’s continue our song,
We have nothing to fear.”

So “croak” the teacher belted,
And “croak” the students went,
On and on they continued,
For there was no sign of a gent.

The sound floated over the wind,
No audience to be found,
But the night was listening
To this beautiful sound.

And some way down the road,
The gent perked up his ears,
A “croak, croak” he hear,
As two well-oiled gears.

He turned around and quickly
Ran up the path,
He had to find this sound,
Or the night would feel his wrath.

But the night heard this,
As you and I know,
And it created some mist,
Hiding toad from foe.

The man wandered and wandered,
The croaks turning to chuckles,
For the toads were all watching,
As the man angrily cracked his knuckles.

Hurt and defeated,
The gent gave up,
He felt unimportant and empty,
Like a used, drained cup.

So he went on home,
Never to see,
The toad chorus that was,
A secret shared between you and me.