#FF Poem of the week

Sylvia PlathWinter Trees by Sylvia Plath

 The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve.

On their blotter of fog the trees

Seem a botanical drawing–

Memories growning, ring on ring,

A series of weddings.

 

Knowing neither abortions nor bitchery,

Truer than women,

They seed so effortlessly!

Tasting the winds, that are footless,

Waisting-deep in history–

 

Full of wings, otherworldliness.

In this, they are Ledas.

O mother of leaves and sweetness

Who are these peitas?

The shadows of ringdoves chanting, but easing nothing.

 

 

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