Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
Where are the Frogs of Spring?
-as John Keats never said
Ay,
where are they? This October is summer-sour
And
drowsy frogs are singing out for rain
Croakery-croaking
sadly by the hour
Invoking
God for a shower, but still in vain
The
grass is withered and sere, the ground is dust
Bees
gather ‘round each desiccated bloom
Seeking
nectar but finding only crust
For
their colony-hive on the cusp of doom
Where
are the rains of October, then –
And
the frosts? Ay, where are they? Where, and when?
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