Summer grows old, cold-blooded mother.
The insects are scant, skinny.
In these palustral homes we only
Croak and wither.
Mornings dissipate in somnolence.
The sun brightens tardily
Among the pithless reeds.
Flies fail us.
he fen sickens.
Frost drops even the spider.
The genius of plenitude
Houses himself elsewhere
Our folk thin
I came upon this poem while reading some fall poems earlier. It reminded me of a recent picture I took of a frog by our pond surrounded by fallen leaves and acorns. I can only imagine his thoughts may be something close to what the poet penned.
2 Replies to “Autumnal Frog Contemplations”
Nice to see some Plath, Jen. Her ‘Tulips’ is one of my favourite poems.
Thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed it. I am always in awe of a good poem:) Thanks for stopping by!