Imagine you are camping in the mountains. As the evening air grows crisp and darkness sets in, you hear the distant howl of a coyote. The chirp of crickets clicking their wings fills the night as mosquitoes dance around your fading campfire. As a choir of toads begins to croak in perfect harmony, you are increasingly aware you are only a visitor in this nocturnal world. As you drift off to sleep, one voice rises above the rest; it is a tiny neon green tree frog perched on top of a rock reciting a limerick. If we could understand the language of frogs croaking, imagine the poetry they would share.