Get Your Premium Membership

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 elsewhwere.
Our folk thin Lamentably.

Poem by Sylvia Plath
Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem - Frog AutumnEmail Poem | Create an image from this poem

Poems are below...



More Poems by Sylvia Plath

Comments, Analysis, and Meaning on Frog Autumn

Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Frog Autumn here.