An American Bullfrog (Lithobates Catesbeianus) in the swampy water of Brazos Bend State Park, Texas, USA.
I was heading to the state park and looked up animals that I could photograph that had poems and I settled on shooting frogs and turtles. Not much action with turtles but there were lots of frogs about to photograph.
Contemptuous of his home beyond
The village and the village pond,
A large-souled Frog who spurned each byeway,
Hopped along the imperial highway.
Nor grunting pig nor barking dog
Could disconcert so great a frog.
The morning dew was lingering yet
His sides to cool, his tongue to wet;
The night dew when the night should come
A travelled frog would send him home.
Not so, alas! the wayside grass
Sees him no more: - not so, alas!
A broadwheeled waggon unawares
Ran him down, his joys, his cares.
From dying choke one feeble croak
The Frog's perpetual silence broke:
"Ye buoyant Frogs, ye great and small,
Even I am mortal after all.
My road to Fame turns out a wry way:
I perish on this hideous highway,-
Oh for my old familiar byeway!"
The choking Frog sobbed and was gone:
The waggoner strode whistling on.
Unconscious of the carnage done,
Whistling that waggoner strode on,
Whistling (it may have happened so)
"A Froggy would a-wooing go:"
A hypothetic frog trolled he
Obtuse to a reality.
O rich and poor, O great and small,
Such oversights beset us all:
The mangled frog abides incog,
The uninteresting actual frog;
The hypothetic frog alone
Is the one frog we dwell upon.
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An interesting image assumed to meet the challenge.
Thank you Ronnie for another of your trademark images, quality frogs abound! Your sad poem in your comments help to understand the image in relation to the challenge brief and what wonderful contributions from posthumous and particularly skewsme, most entertaining! There's not really anything to fault in your lovely image the detail is excellent from the the pieces of duckweed to the folds, textures, patterns and colours of the skin its all truly wonderful, thanks Ronnie.
The buggery of bug is never buggy:
When all the bugs are buggy with the buggy bug,
And bug in bugging bugs, a bug will bug
From bug to bug about the new-bugged bug;
That is the Grasshopper’s—he bugs the bug
In buggy buggery,—he has never bugged
With his bugs; for when bugged out with bug
He bugs at bugginess beneath some buggy bug.
The buggery of bug is bugging never:
On a buggy buggy bug, when the bug
Has bugged a bug, from the bug there bugs
The Cricket’s bug, in bugginess bugging ever,
And bugs to one in bugginess half bugged,
The Grasshopper’s among some buggy bugs.
When you see a muddy puddle,
tap your fuddy-duddy buddy
(for the sight may be too subtle).
Be sure he's set and ready
to view the paddling taddies
with their gams gambolling madly.
For those fish soon cease their swishing,
and begin their froggy wobble,
hurtling only when they're startled.
But in the evening, they're an earful.
Listen to their lust for twilight.
Leggy froggies' treble warbles
lilt libidinous amphibabble.
Though pollywogs are soggy,
blowing bubbly growing troubles,
sunning frogs are only groggy,
singing shady serenades.