The resignation of John O’Donoghue

The bullfrog joked and smoked
And croaked his deep felt apologies
For whatever hurt he may have caused
To The Office,
Though it was obvious from his rubbery skin
And in his big lugubrious eyes
That he felt that, actually,
He had nothing to apologise for.
From the banks, the children laughed
And poked him with long sticks,
Cut from Autumn-bared boughs,
Trying to dislodge him from the flat rock
In the middle of the fast-flowing current.
But he remained unmoved,
The merest hint of a tremor
Wobbling his giant double chin.
Bloated, he could not turn
When they assailed him from behind
With luscious blackberries
That recently hung ripe from the bramble.
He blinked imperiously,
Squatting immobile on his slate throne
Until the water rose too high
And he was obliged to leap from sight
With a deft splash,
Leaving ne’er a ripple on the smooth surface.