We found the poor thing
by the side of the road,
a coughing and pale little sicky.
It was moaning and sighing
as if it were trying
to tell us it felt kind of yicky.
We took it home, the poor thing,
and made it a nest
and gave it a gentle inspection,
while it ate cheese and jam
and most of a ham
and the frog I brought home for dissection.
Look, it’s trying to speak!
See it croak through its beak?
I think its big eye is, like, blinking.
It’s not pale anymore—
it’s more robust than before.
See, it’s grunting!
It’s moving!
It’s thinking!
It’s getting well, the poor thing,
so hip, hip, hooray!
Our patient is bigger and stronger each day!
But, um, when it’s better, will it go away?