The Circle of the Croaker

The frog swallowed his pride and left the lotus leaf.  He had considered it is paradise.  A territory of his own.  But the comfort of his pad had corrupted  with age.  The renewal of life.  You are born and age or morph into a middle age with all its hormones and growth and then settle in for the long haul to old age and the wisdom of time.

The frog did not relate the lily pad to his own plight.  He too had gone from tadpole to now old age.  His ability to zip his tongue and catch the mosquito or fly now diminished.  He felt the age in his bones but did not connect the diminished functions with his advanced age.

Off the lily pad he jumped to another.  A new one and not his comfort zone.  Like an old person in an assisted home, he just could not get comfortable on it.

And then as thousands of frogs prior to his birth and thousands more after his coming, he died.

That is correct, he did the croak.  And he slid off the lily pad and decomposed in the lake of his environment.  He became food for the tadpoles of the youth.

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