A withered iris now made into silk
A heart screams a tacit requiem
What is gas was electric
A child enthralled to words
I too, crackle and drag
Sylvia touched a part of us that most people abandoned the way, a mother bird abandons her young that has fallen from a tree. For her words captured the gloom and uncertaintity, that resides in us all. For have we all not been a child, hiding under the sheets, when the outside world seemed so cold and cruel.
Plymouth Michigan, USA
Friday, December 1, 2000
The Sylvia Plath Forum is administered by Elaine Connell, author of Sylvia Plath: Killing The Angel In The House.
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