For, you see, Big Croaker is the new winner
The new top boss of Big Pond morale.
All multitudes, vast crowds even to SoCal.
What is this man, this donkey, this girl on the road?
What is this parade of the evening on a quest to tow?
What is this parade, of low esteem without Big Toad?
Oh, yes, this parade must have Big Toad leading the row?
How else would any quest be worth the load?
So now Big Croaker hopped with throat blown up,
All ready to lend some glory to man and donkey and girl,
Big Croaker only could give these three the proper shine up,
The proper line up with proper flippings of that tongue in curl,
So bulging were Biggie’s eyes at hopping out,up,out,up,
He never saw Caterpillar dropping from limb to saddle’s burl.
Cattie whispered in his fuzz, “I will go, I will see,”
And then did Big Croaker hop higher, croak loud, blow bigger:
“But I am the leader, I am the Biggie, you fake bee!”
“I will lead the quest, I know best, snigger,snigger.”
Then did Little Cattie wriggle and snug, just content to be
Riding on the trip of the ages, not heeding Croaker trigger.
So Big Croakie blew harder and hopped higher
Until little donkey’s hoof did fling him into ditch,
Blinding him with mud and dulling Croaker to Sigher,
For now Croaker was choked with a stitch
Of pain in the throat that once ruled the mire
of Big Pond, now forgotten in night’s pitch.
Little Cattie snugged in girl’s robe, holding truths under starlight,
“Oh, yes, I hear the song, oh yes, I see the wings.
Oh, yes, I am little, I am only one,I have no might,
But I am riding to Bethlehem with things
No home could make so right,
Riding to Bethlehem held by the mother of God’s son.