Croak. The sound of a dying frog, Yet still the sound of vibrant life. One rots and gins within the bog, And remembered is all but strife. Live and be hated, Die and face adoration. For on thin ice you've skated, With a face all animation. The square-toed giant huh? He ain't no giant 'tall. The little devil with golden halo Hides within us great and small. It is our endless companion, With tight embrace, She tells us of the mansion, Which we go to without grace. We hold her hand while we fall.