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Moving On On the last day of summer I pile dead vines and withered flowers, then bend in search of living things. I raise the heavy planter with care, holding a mouthful of air, looking for a pair of frogs who live under the pot. No spotted tenants return my startled stare with their iridescent eyes; no throats of bottle green still throb beneath the flower tub, pulses vivid in the sheltered spill of darkness. There's only a lonely pill bug with his silvered armor and fringe of legs, antennae flailing in alarm--most likely excited by the sudden daylight flooding his musty lodgings. My ambivalence this autumn: relief that they’ve gone on-- and regret for an unexpected absence of frogs. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2004-10-10 20:24:35
Critiquer Rating During Critique: Unknown
Joanne,
How poigant. Time moves on and we miss the ones we've known. Human/animal/whatever.
I personally miss so many who have moved on.
You are very thought filled.
It's always calming to read your words.
god bless you my friend
Dellena