“I wish I could fly,” sighed the frog on the lily pad. “If I could, I would fly all the time! Why my feet would never touch ground and I’d only be wet when I wanted to. I could eat all the flying things ‘cause none would be out of my reach.”
A passing moth heard his diatribe from beginning to end. Swooping closer, she whispered. “I wish I could hop!”
“You do?” Asked the frog.
“Not really,” said the moth. “I was trying to make you feel like less of a loser. Flying’s AWESOME!”
Moth’s can be such jerks.
