A Toad under a canopy

Somewhere in the meadows of a chanting gloom
A toad just croaked under an enchant of mushrooms

The toad tried to budge the canopy of hazel hues
The squalid floor failed to aid, showered in battered blues
“Should I try to fence the yelling sky?”
The toad thought for a while
“And face the storm with an armored chest
Puffed up neck, wearing a greenish vest
Or step out loud in the roaring rants,
And croak along like a careless infant?”

The sordid source of a morbid life
Strives for more under the scanted light
Making the toad to glimpse back his own trail
As to how he was caught under the gaze of this gale.

But defeated by spirit, the toad would cry to the bleeding sky
In some solemn chores, wishing to concoct an alibi
Yet somehow the thunder struck, and agony comes on board
Finally sucking the life off; a lonely, rugged toad.