| Frog Autumn | |
Poem By: Sylvia Plath | Views: 475 | Word Count: 43 | View PDF | Print View |
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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 elsewhwere. Our folk thin
Lamentably.
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About the Author Sylvia Plath (1932 - 1963) was born in Boston. Her father was a professor of biology at Boston University, and had specialized in bees. He has been characterized as authoritarian and died of diabetes in 1940 when Plath was eight years old... Read Sylvia Plath's Full Biography
More Poems By Sylvia Plath
1: Jilted
4: Years
5: Death & Co.
6: Frog Autumn
7: April 18
9: Lesbos
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