Two little frogs from inland bogs
Had spent the night in drinking.
When morning broke, they both awoke
With eyes bloodshot and blinking.
‘Fore time was had to gather senses
And breathe a prayer for past offences,
A farmer frail came to the Swale
And caught them quick as winking.
Now the farmer was a guileless man;
So he put the frogs in a big milk can.
But the can filled up and the lid came down;
Both frogs and milk were shipped to town.
Our friends began to shiver and quake
And sober up on a cold milk shake.
For now they had to kick and swim
Until their bleary eyes grew dim.
At last, one frog cried out in dread,
“We’re gonna drown! We’re good as dead!”
“For shame !For shame!” the other replied.
“A frog”s not dead until he’s died.”
“Keep on kicking! That’s my plan.
We may yet see outside the can.”
“No use! No use!” faint-heart replied.
And with a groan he quickly died.
But the other frog, undaunted still,
Kept on kicking with a firmer will
Until with joy too great to utter,
He found he’d churned a lump of butter.
And hopping up on top of the grease
He floated around with the greatest of ease.
Now the moral of the story is:
When things are tough all over town,
Don’t give up and don’t go down.
Just keep on kicking; don’t cry or mutter.
‘Cause one more kick may bring your butter!