Love, the world <br />Suddenly turns, turns color. The streetlight <br />Splits through the rat's tail <br />Pods of the laburnum at nine in the morning. <br />It is the Arctic, <br /> <br />This little black <br />Circle, with its tawn silk grasses - babies hair. <br />There is a green in the air, <br />Soft, delectable. <br />It cushions me lovingly. <br /> <br />I am flushed and warm. <br />I think I may be enormous, <br />I am so stupidly happy, <br />My Wellingtons <br />Squelching and squelching through the beautiful red. <br /> <br />This is my property. <br />Two times a day <br />I pace it, sniffing <br />The barbarous holly with its viridian <br />Scallops, pure iron, <br /> <br />And the wall of the odd corpses. <br />I love them. <br />I love them like history. <br />The apples are golden, <br />Imagine it . . . <br /> <br />My seventy trees <br />Holding their gold-ruddy balls <br />In a thick gray death-soup, <br />Their million <br />Gold leaves metal and breathless. <br /> <br />O love, O celibate. <br />Nobody but me <br />Walks the waist high wet. <br />The irreplaceable <br />Golds bleed and deepen, the mouths of Thermopylae.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/letter-in-november/
