somewhere on short street galloped,
steered by some sort of amphibian,
a steed, dress’d in silks, to oblivion.
the frog behind him cropped and walloped
but behind them no filly followed–
instead crowds all sighed ‘this again’
‘that misguided young foal of ours can
not tell jockey (Blaze, Day, Murphy) from toad.’

well, Kermit or human, whoe’er it was
derby fans didn’t know then that green guy
knew how to make that horse really buzz.
when the finish line drew in we saw fly
the horse and frog several, light-years ahead,
and how they won by green snout and brown nose.