Drained Pond Poem by Petr Borkovec
Drained Pond
March flies swarm and spill.
Blistered prints of dragon-flies and frogs.
Dream zones of bright verdure.
A shell, its nose held up,
crumbles at the merest touch,
but the hard edge holds:
this instrument sounds like
an owl call, as I stride into
the summer forest, owls about.
Translated into English by Justin Quinn
Sunday, October 9, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: english,summer
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8/28/2026 12:59:50 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
