作者littlebinroy (Ulysses)
看板poetry
標題Frog Autumn
時間Wed Aug 4 20:57:48 2004
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 somnolance.
The sun brightens tardily
Among the pithless reeds. Flies fail us.
The fen sickens.
Frost drops even the spider. Clearly
The genius of plenitude
Houses himself elsewhere. Our folk thin
Lamentably.
—Sylvia Plath
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