|
|||||
|
|
|||||||||||||
| Sylvia Plath |
(1965)
|
 |
||
| Poppies In October | ||||
| Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts. Nor the woman in the ambulance Whose red heart blossoms through her coat so astoundingly- A gift, a love gift Utterly unasked for By a sky Palely and flamily Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes Dulled to a halt under bowlers. O my god, what am I That these late mouths should cry open In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers. |
||||
|
||||
|
||||
| Optimiert für MS InternetExplorer 5.0 + und 1024x768 |
|