The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve.
On their blotter of fog the trees
Seem a botanical drawing —
Memories growing, ring on ring,
A series of weddings.
Knowing neither abortions nor bitchery,
Truer than women,
They seed so effortlessly!
Tasting the winds, that are footless,
Waist-deep in history —
Full of wings, otherworldliness.
In this, they are Ledas.
O mother of leaves and sweetness
Who are these pietàs?
The shadows of ringdoves chanting, but chasing nothing.
Iam trying to study the poem because I like it. I wonder what the poet mean by Ledas. Its Leda in Greek mythology. And I couldnt find the connection
@Malissa, your poorly spelled and badly punctuated comment has proven that not only have you completely misunderstood the topic of the poem, you also have very limited knowledge of the outside world aswell. I can only hope that you comment was some kind of joke/ironic statement
Hehe Nice Poem…x
blurry winter morning, it’s all surreal, but here we are, alive in woman – human bodies. feeling footless, able to fly by watching birds calling through the picture of cold. a rereadable and vivid poem.
This is the first Plath poem I ever read, and the morbidity of it is very beautiful in a haunting kind of way. She seems to curse her womanhood…I can identify with that feeling.
this poem, like all of her others, just gives me such a deep haunting feeling. through her words you feel something in a way that only sylvia seems to do. it’s like seeing things through her eyes.
i really liked the poem i think if anybody who had an abortion is really crazy they just messed up there life ande if they want to have an abortion they should stop and think about it!!