The sting of bees took away my father <br />who walked in a swarming shroud of wings <br />and scorned the tick of the falling weather. <br /> <br />Lightning licked in a yellow lather <br />but missed the mark with snaking fangs: <br />the sting of bees took away my father. <br /> <br />Trouncing the sea like a ragin bather, <br />he rode the flood in a pride of prongs <br />and scorned the tick of the falling weather. <br /> <br />A scowl of sun struck down my mother, <br />tolling her grave with golden gongs, <br />but the sting of bees took away my father. <br /> <br />He counted the guns of god a bother, <br />laughed at the ambush of angels' tongues, <br />and scorned the tick of the falling weather. <br /> <br />O ransack the four winds and find another <br />man who can mangle the grin of kings: <br />the sting of bees took away my father <br />who scorned the tick of the falling weather.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lament-64/
