To you oh amphibious one do I write this tribute most deserving
To he who is either frog or toad depending on exactly what mode
A human being classifies your mysterious and bulbous eyes
Depending on the shape or size
The scaly skin you wear like a mink coat 
You are the aristocracy of the moat
The pond or lake with green and slimy frill
Where your peers and servants can be found
Before it's time to go to ground
For tea and bed, to dry off and lie still
Among other slimy bufonidae
In clumps with all their finery in stark array
Back to natal pond is where you go
When it's time to breed you make the call
To your kin and servants one and all
Make sure they get the process right
 To pair not up with relatives or a fight
could ensue and jeopardise your regal self
As top toad, you wouldn't wish to be left on the shelf
Not to find a royal match to make some tadpoles batch by batch
But where do you abide when you leave the slime?
The acrid smells and the quicksand behind?
Is it a palace, a mansion, or toady heaven?
Do you gather together in groups of ten or eleven?
Some people suggest that a group of you
Are called knots or lumps, even nests too
But unlike some character in a famous story
You have no need to be popular or gory
Or even funny as your skin is not frog like all gooey and runny 
But royal warts are on your back
Defining from exactly where you're at
You're a toad not a frog we've established that
So yes, your worshipful vainglorious toad
In your honour, I dedicate this tribute by Ode.