I think that I shall never see
A poem as lovely as a garbage can full of frogs.
A can of frogs for hungry diners
Certainly there's nothing finer.
A can of frogs in Chinatown gloom
Oblivious to their frog leg doom.
A can of frogs that may in Winter see
A Frenchman swiftly de-leg thee
Upon whose legs garlic has lain;
Intimately sauteed for frog chow mein.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only frogs are sold by the gallon.

With absolutely no apologies to J. Kilmer.