On a moon-lit night way down in the swampy marsh, strange sounds are heard,
The chirp-chirp and croaking all in unison, a sing-song gathering without a word.
Green frogs sharing, one world, where all are caring, at peace with one and all.
This heavenly place, laid back its pace, a home for the big and the very small.
Frogs sitting on the lily pads, all just napping or taking in the evening breeze,
Where moonbeams are shining, there, reeds are lining, all's senses to please.
A hoot owl calls, with its magical spell, and the whippoorwill's shrill notes, join in,
Frogs each call, add their music to the ball, in this down home party all are kin.
Frogs, just having fun, before the night's begun, all's so cool in the evening's air,
Wild geese winging home, no more to roam, land in the pond, with room to spare.
This joyful celebration deserves a huge ovation, this fine magical place, so rare,
Moon's peaking from behind a cloud, as it hears the music, loud, without a care.
As the critters now are curled up tight, all soon to face the sun, so very bright,
One more chorus was heard before the folks have stirred, by morning's light.
Frogville's precious bounds, above the trees, resounds, this heavenly place,
Is so meant for all, of every kind, so brings a peace of mind, of such a grace.