Thither into the stream

I saw a tiny frog, speckled and green
on a green lilypad, staring down a fly
like a red fox all hunting and sly
different thoughts of nice and mean
Assorted, ready to start the night dream
Like the contents of a gross rye
A speckled frog, a fly like a machine
And lifeless arms shown like a light beam

What had that lilypad to do with being green
The wayside green and yellow lilypad
What kept that little frog to that dream
then brought the tiny fly thither in the stream
what but pattern of life to had
If pattern was in a thing so sad


I had to do this poem for a class project. Where we had to take a sonet done by Robert Frost and we had to change all of the bigger words. It was tough and I tried, but I'd like to know what you think.

THANKS!
hockeychick

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