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?
