Autumnal Frog Contemplations

DSC_0378fallfrog2

Frog Autumn

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.
 Clearly
The genius of  plenitude
Houses himself elsewhere
 Our folk thin
Lamentably.


 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.

∼Jen

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