The frog sits on a dark, blue, wrinkled flower waiting for a small, buzzing fly to pass by. His big, bulging eyes look like their springing out of his head. His rough, scaly skin glistens in the winter mornings sun. The cold breeze whips through the trees around him. hes alert for any buzzing noise that passes by. He can smell anything that crawls close to his small, slit mouth. He can taste his last meal that used to be a fly. His sensitive skin shivers in the morning breeze feeling anything that touches him. He spy's a fly buzzing by so he strikes out to catch it in his small mouth. I wonder what the fly is thinking now? Probably im going down in that frogs stomach! That's if flies can talk.
