Why can't frogs learn to wipe their feet,
Poop in one place, so discreet,
Instead of in the water bowl
Dirt enow to make me howl.
Why not use tiny paper towel 
And clean the inside glass so neat;
With tiny chirps of duty greet
The giant woman outside wiping,
Smiling now instead of griping.

Poetess gaze round, I pray,
At frogroom in such disarray;
A jumble of cups, pens and dust,
Of metal tools all touched by rust,
Loose insect preens
Near tumbled screens,
And mend thine own house of its taint
Before you whine your fool complaint.