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The Frog Prince

For a group called Poetry and Pictures International

(poem beneath photo)

 

by Nick Owen

 

Lesley was a young Princess

Not of Royal blood, I guess.

But Daddy was the King of News

An anchor Man with his own views

It earned him Kingly revenues!

 

Their home looked like some ancient tower

And represented daddy’s power.

The garden too was very splendid

With great high walls it was defended.

These kept out the papparazzi

So none of them were saying, “grazie”.

 

But Lesley had to play alone

Or call friends on the telephone.

 

She liked to play with golden balls

And romp around in overalls.

She often threw them in the air

And tried to catch them as a pair.

 

Now one day a precious ball fell in the water.

Her dad, much too busy to search for his daughter.

She sat beside the pond and cried.

T’was not as though she had not tried.

The ball had vanished deep inside.

 

Then out of Daddy’s water feature

Emerged a green and slimy creature.

Not a lizard or a newt

(Some famous people find those cute).

Addressing her upon a log

Was an amazing talking frog.

 

He offered her a special deal.

I promise you that this is real!

He’d go dive and fetch her ball.

It would not take him long at at all.

 

Then she would take him in her house

And love him just like her pet mouse.

 

In fact, to love him rather better.

He wrote it in a slimy letter.

He must dine upon her table

And share her food, if he was able.

 

Then afterwards to share her bed

With little pillows for his head.

 

Now Lesley, she really just wanted her ball.

She hardly considered this froggy at all.

Preposterous to keep a deal

With a talking frog. Come on. Get real!

 

The frog disappeared and came back with her toy.

She cared not if it were a girl or a boy.

She ran away, back to her house,

Which made our froggy grouse and grouse.

 

“You promised you would take me too.

Now what am I supposed to do?”

Slowly he hopped up to her door

Requesting honoring his score

To Lesley this was just a bore.

 

How could any frog expect

A human child to show respect.

Frogs are meant for vivisection

She’d done it at her school inspection.

 

But dad has heard the froggy croak

He does not find it just a joke.

For he’d done a programme on animal rights

And knew of the animal terrorist’s fights.

 

“Now Lesley, let this frog come in.

No, you can’t put him in the bin.

I’m not risking bombs being thown at my home

You must understand he’s a frog, not a gnome.

 

If you agreed to make this deal

Then froggy has to share your meal

And he will have to share your bed

If that is truly what you said.

 

So froggy got to share her plate.

Her food, which once had tasted great

Had suddenly lost all its flavour

For frog it was a meal to savour.

 

But how’s a girl that’s so well bred

To take a slimy frog to bed?

 

She has to take him to her room

She wants to crush him with a broom

 

But daddy says that he must stay.

Poor Lesley can’t throw him away.

 

The two of them get into bed

Its not as if the pair are wed.

She puts a bolster in between.

Do you think that this girl is mean?

 

But frog insists he sleep on her pillow

Or, he declares, her father will know.

 

To lesley, that’s the final straw.

She hurls the frog against the door

 

The froggy makes a dreadful squelch.

Lesley lets out a satisfied belch.

 

But what is this upon the floor?

Its dark inside, so she’s not sure.

Its much too big to be a frog

Our Lesley’s suddenly agog.

 

The frog’s become a sexy male

He pulls himself up on the rail.

“I guess,” he says, “ We need a chat”

But that is not quite where she’s at.

 

Talking with frog’s is bad enough

But talk with men, that really rough!

She pulls the stranger into bed

The man is happy to be led.

 

She reckons that her dad’s agreed

And so the two begin to breed.

 

Next day he takes the girl away.

He has a place where they can stay.

 

A witch had put a spell on him,

A relative called Uncle Jim.

His world was covered up with slime.

He hoped he’d be released in time.

 

If any girl would honour him,

But not for all his features grim.

 

She’d had to get into a lather

To find she could oppose her father.

 

And now at last our tale is ended

And all of this abuse is mended.

 

At least that is the way I see it

Unless of course you don’t agree it.

 

© Istvan Kadar Photography

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Taken on September 2, 2008