Swamp

The smiling frog 
within his boat
does eat the bugs
that buzz and fly.
The swamp in which 
he dwells is full 
of furtive fish 
and floating fowl
In placid waters 
with a gentle 
tide beneath 
the azure sky.
His realm is lined 
with trees and distant 
sounds of hidden 
beasts which howl.

His fishing pole, 
within the depths -
it's bated hook 
awaits his catch.
The smiling frog 
within his boat
does eat the bugs 
that buzz and fly.
He drinks a hearty 
brew - enjoying
tastes within his 
chosen batch.
He leans and rests 
but keeps upon 
his pole a single 
open eye.

His restless, ranine 
sons - their poles
do wiggle as they 
groan and sigh,
But boredom falls 
into the swamp
like all the leaves 
and wild debris.
The smiling frog 
within his boat
does eat the bugs 
that buzz and fly.
He chuckles as the 
beauty and the
vibrant clime 
they plainly see.

It's there within 
his boat their poles
then dip and hop 
with tugs and drags
As all their lines 
are yanked by fish -
ensnared by hooks 
they can't defy.
The frog and both 
his sons unload
their trophy trout 
into their bags.
The smiling frog 
within his boat
does eat the bugs 
that buzz and fly.