Potted Flowers with Books IV Eric Barjot Words Axes After whose stroke the wood rings, And the echoes! Echoes traveling Off from the centre like horses. The sap Wells like tears, like the Water striving To re-establish its mirror Over the rock That drops and turns, A white skull, Eaten by weedy greens. Years later I Encounter them on the road - Words dry and riderless, The indefatigable hoof-taps. While From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars Govern a life. Sylvia Plath (27th October 1932 - 11th February 1963) |
Thursday 27 November 2014
The Thursday Poem
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