I'm so glad to live in this grand old marsh,
for here my life is not to be quite as harsh.
I live off some bugs and all of the assorted greenery,
never do I worry the least about the scenery.
My greatest concern is just what to discern,
new songs to croak or one that's just to learn.
Amongst crickets, fireflies, the big Heron bird's cries,
the sounds of a swamp for me to surmise.
One of the things that does so bother me,
those swamp visitors sometimes that I see.
Once fished, on a whim, all had jumped from a limb,
Now hold a device, ask advice, don't swim.
One night I so spied by the light of the moon,
An odd visitor whose origin I'm not to impune.
Metallic arms and legs, much better movement begs,
Was so very similar to every human buffoon.
I once felt so akin to those people who came,
Just like them, I tried to act so much the same.
Now like a robot, seems everyone has got, it's all insane.
Is now a disgrace, I feel out of place, I'm in pain.
At last, I'm just content to be myself, not to follow,
It's all too much for me to take, so hard to swallow
Old days of swamp lore, have been thrown out the door,
I'm hoping those creepy critters don't visit anymore.