The Ongoing Tale of the Princess and the Frog

I’m guessing this was early on in my relationship with Carolyn. The frog was my animal (to the extent people have animals) largely because I could draw a reasonable facsimile of the frogs inhabiting Walt Kelly’s Pogo, and so I wrote a fairly tale featuring a frog so I could illustrate it.  I had the unfortunate and somewhat sexist propensity to characterize Carolyn as a “princess” so it all fit together. Back at a time when I was writing complaining dirges, this was a refreshingly lighthearted departure. I usually include it on the rare occasions when I perform. The guitar riff in the beginning and then in between the verses is a channeling of a folk dance, Sestorka (a/k/a Hoo Ha) danced regularly at the Goldens Bridge Friday night folk dancing.

The Ongoing Tale of the Princess and the Frog

 

Comes to the morning freshly sprung

Wearing her princess’ gown

Here in a spot she’s never come

Here in a song she’s never sung

My, how she gets around

Wearing her father’s crown

“Here where they say magic trees are planted

“Surely the creatures must be enchanted

“Perhaps once a wand cast a spell o’er this pond

“To be broken by me”

She cries for her loneliness, sighs for her cold heart

When all of a sudden a frog croaking Mozart

Fills her poor heart full of glee

“An enchanted prince this must be”

 

See how a princess tries to kiss

A frog full of mystery

He tells her “Sure, I was once a prince

“But I soon gave it up and haven’t tried it since

“So why kiss me

“I am what I want to be”

She tells him of crystals and magic ointments

Of all of her searching and disappointments

The frog understands her and so he commands her

“Listen to me

“Perhaps your problem is not that you’re lonely

“And not that you need a Prince Charming, but only

“That in this cold world where we dwell

“Even princesses fall under spells”

 

Now sometimes in morning you can see

If you’re willing to bend down

A frog listening most eagerly

To a frog croaking most unregally

The girlfrog he hangs around

Far from her father’s crown

For in that moment she almost missed him

He told her to bend anyway and kiss him

And now housed in a silly pad, built on a lily pad

There they be

So when she goes let her grow like Alice

Finding her way from her father’s palace

She who’d settle on queen’s in a fog

When she could just as well be a frog.