“Two toads divulged a yellow word
And sorry I could not trample both
And be one trampler, long I stood
And looked at one as long as I could
Where it crouched in the undergrowth
“Then squashed the other, as just as scared
And having perhaps the better pain
For is was shaking and wanted care
Though, as for that, my squashing there
Had scorned them really about the same
“And both that morning equally quailed
In fear of step and trodding back
Oh, I left the first to live a day
Yet knowing how way lead on to way
I doubted if I should ever stomp it
“I shall be telling this to a fly
Somewhere pages and pages hence
Two toads divulged a word, and I
I stomped the one less pampered by
And that has made all the difference.”
Procrastinating Poet 