Frogs sit more solid
 than anything sits. In mid-leap they are
 parachutists falling
 in a free fall. They die on roads
 with arms across their chests and
 heads high.

 I love frogs that sit
 like Buddha, that fall without
 parachutes, that die
 like Italian tenors.

 Above all, I love them because,
 pursued in water, they never
 panic so much that they fail
 to make stylish triangles
 with their ballet dancer's
 legs.

Absolutely delightful. I think the comparison with Italian tenors is especially perfect - it makes you really sit up and chuckle.

— Anustup

[Links etc.]

MacCaig poems on the Minstrels:
Poem #755, Gone are the days
Poem #699, Incident

There’s more about MacCaig online at
http://www.geocities.com/william_brodie/maccaig/backgr.html This site also has a fair collection of his poetry.

Random irrelevancies:
Poem #544, Toads – Philip Larkin
Poem #799, Mr Toad – Kenneth Grahame