Day of mist: day of tarnish with hands unserviceable, I wait for the milk van the one-eared cat laps its gray paw and the coal fire burns outside, the little hedge leaves are become quite yellow a milk-film blurs the empty bottles on the windowsill no glory descends two water drops poise on the arched green stem of my neighbor's rose bush o bent bow of thorns the cat unsheathes its claws the world turns today today I will not disenchant my twelve black-gowned examiners or bunch my fist in the wind's sneer.
Added: 7 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 7 Jun 2025 11:14 PM | Viewed: 11077 times
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Sylvia Plath
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