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Title: The Croaker
Author: Joseph Crosby Lincoln [
More Titles by Lincoln]
Once, by the edge of a pleasant pool,
Under the bank, where 't was dark and cool,
Where bushes over the water hung,
And grasses nodded and rushes swung--
Just where the brook flowed out of the bog--
There lived a gouty and mean old Frog,
Who'd sit all day in the mud, and soak,
And do just nothing but croak and croak.
'Till a Blackbird whistled: "I say, you know,
What _is_ the trouble down there below?
Are you in sorrow, or pain, or what?"
The Frog said: "Mine is a gruesome lot!
Nothing but mud, and dirt, and slime,
For me to look at the livelong time.
'Tis a dismal world!" so he sadly spoke,
And voiced his woes in a mournful croak.
"But you're looking _down!_" the Blackbird said.
"Look at the blossoms overhead;
Look at the lovely summer skies;
Look at the bees and butterflies--
Look _up_, old fellow! Why, bless your soul,
You're looking down in a muskrat's hole!"
But still, with his gurgling sob and choke,
The Frog continued to croak and croak.
And a wise old Turtle, who boarded near,
Said to the Blackbird: "Friend, see here:
Don't shed your tears over him, for he
Is wretched just 'cause he likes to be!
He's one of the kind who _won't_ be glad;
It makes him happy to think he's sad.
_I'll_ tell you something--and it's no joke--
Don't waste your pity on those who croak!"
[The end]
Joseph Crosby Lincoln's poem: Croaker
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