Hello, friend, my name is Bup.
Small and green and soft,
I am mostly made of moss.
Tonight, on fish I’ll sup.

I waddle to the creek.
My trek is very long.
I sing my trekking song.
My voice is rough and meek.

By the time I reach the stream,
my tiny legs are weary,
and though my eyes are teary,
I cannot help but beam.

The water’s full of little fishes,
so delectable and plump!
And with one mighty jump,
I have my choice of dishes.

I slurp down a nice grey minnow.
Its taste is smooth and sweet.
The current ruffles mossy hands and feet.
My panging hunger begins to winnow.

All a sudden, I’m going up!
A giant beak holds me fast.
I do fear my time has passed.
Farewell, friend, my name was Bup.