Poem by Sylvia Plath

Prospect

Among orange-tile rooftops
and chimney pots
the fen fog slips,
gray as rats,

while on spotted branch
of the sycamore
two black rooks hunch
and darkly glare,

watching for night,
with absinthe eye
cocked on the lone, late,
passer-by.

1. Gold Mouths Cry
2. Temper of Time
3. Words for a Nursery
4. Sow
5. The Disquieting Muses

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