Finding Flies

Once upon a tadpole green, three times upon a rhyme,
hungry frogs on lily pads sat griping at the time.
Breakfast was nine hours gone, and dinnertime was past;
mama frogs calmed kiddie frogs, secretly aghast.

Flies were what they loved and wanted; flies were what they ate.
Finding flies was easy! So why now was supper late?
Kermit jumped up on a branch to see above the trees,
scanned the sky and hopped back down to fall on bended knees.

Frightened now, he paused to think. The skies above were clear
and somehow strangely empty of the sounds he longed to hear:
buzzing, humming, whining over froggy bog and leaf,
sounds that once brought happiness - now absent, causing grief.

Kermit gathered all his wits and bravely faced his friends
showing them the smiling face of one who now pretends.
"Supper's served, my fellow frogs - but first we'll play a game!
See how many flowers growing near us you can name.

First to write down six will win an appetizer prize!"
I've bought myself some time, he thought, and closed his bulging eyes.
Acting fast, he watched them write and slyly hopped aside,
did a poo behind a log and came back, grinning wide.

Daisy, tulip, crocus, lily, buttercup, and rose
wrote a thoughtful froggy lass who handed in her prose.
Kermit, glancing backward, gave her kudos and a smile,
knowing that the flies would be returning in a while.

Sure enough, he heard the sound his ears had longed to hear:
buzzing, humming, whining - far away and then quite near.
So if you didn't know it, friend, take heart, for now you do:
flies will always gather 'round a pile of froggy poo!