Frogspawn
Rain drops down so heavily the earthRefuses to swallow it all, water pools
Gratuitously to pond itself into seeming
Perpetual lakes to slake past thirsts.
I keep returning to this one puddle so
Small to look at and that cannot become deeper-
Somehow when the wind undulates and billows
The surface I am transported to the past.
It asks me to don my small wellies and grab
My cartoon festooned bucket and green fishing net.
Perhaps it is the slate grey silvering of the day
That reminds me of past yonders, or maybe just
Cabin fever tickling at the back of my brain...
No matter! I'm sure there could be frogspawn soon
And if there is I shall be ready.
I'm washing out my jam jars and fashioning
Handles from used string.
Poetry by jenks
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Written on 2010-02-20 at 22:16
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