I had been thinking about Robert Frost yesterday and wondering if he had any mud season poems since we are entering that wonderful time of year. And sure, enough, I found "Two Tramps in Mud Time." Doesn't this say it all!
The water for which we may have to look
In summertime with a witching wand,
In every wheelrut's now a brook,
In every print of a hoof a pond.
Be glad of water, but don't forget
The lurking frost in the earth beneath
That will steal forth after the sun is set
And show on the water its crystal teeth.
Read the whole poem here, or in Collected Poems, Plays and Prose [811 FRO].
Coincidentally, I heard a program this morning on WBUR called Robert Frost Unplugged in which the reporter said this,
Frost was born in San Francisco, not New England...To which I say, so what? You'd be hard-pressed to find a San Franciscan poet who could capture mud season so well!