“Croak croak” the froggie cried, sitting on a pad looking at the sky, waiting and waiting for something to pass by. As he sat there thinking of what he’d get, a small boy passing grabbed him with a net. For hours and hours the froggie was carried. When the boy reached home, the froggie he did bury. The froggie never caught the passing fly.
I liked to get lost when I was young. Staring at things and wondering what life was thinking of me.