Wintering (Sylvia Plath Poems)
This is the easy time, there is nothing doing. I have whirled the midwife's extractor, I have my honey, Six ...
This is the easy time, there is nothing doing. I have whirled the midwife's extractor, I have my honey, Six ...
(1) This is the sea, then, this great abeyance. How the sun's poultice draws on my inflammation. Electrifyingly-colored sherbets, scooped ...
Somebody is shooting at something in our town -- A dull pom, pom in the Sunday street. Jealousy can open ...
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