#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.