Wur-r-r, wur-r-r, wur-r-r.
“Wur-r-r, wur-r-r, wur-r-r,
I have neither feathers nor fur;
I am dusty and wrinkled and warts to me cling,
Yet I’m never unhappy, for Nature, kind thing,
Gave me such a sweet voice; so I constantly sing
Wur-r-r, wur-r-r, wur-r-r.”
“How fortunate it is that an ugly creature may have the power to sing!” exclaimed Tiny so loudly that the toad who had been singing grew frightened and leaped into the tall grass.
“You have taught me the song of contentment, Mrs. Toad,” he continued. “I have many privileges that you do not enjoy, for you only venture forth at night. Although hundreds of animals are waiting to destroy you, your song never loses its vigor. Your only recreation is to catch a few insects and to sit in the moonlight, singing ‘Wur-r-r, wur-r-r, wur-r-r’.”