Frogess

"The night was warm, the pool was still, / No sound was heard from lake or hill, / Save where, upon a log decayed, / A bull-frog croaked his serenade: / Wake, frogess of my love, awake, / And listen to my song; / The heron roosts far from the lake, / The pickerel his rest doth take / The water-weeds among. // The sun has put his fire out, / The daylight’s hardly seen, / No enemy is round about; / Then frogess poke thy lovely snout / Above the waters green."

"Do Frogs like children? I am not terribly convinced they do. Before I get pelted with tomatoes by indignant Frogesses, could I simply ask you to draw your own conclusion from the large number of abusive terms used to describe children? Our “brats” is nothing compared with the variety of French names that have the same meaning but are too often used instead of “kids.”"