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24 September 2011

Poppies in October, by Sylvia Plath

Poppies in October

By Sylvia Plath
Even the sun-clouds this morning cannot manage such skirts.   
Nor the woman in the ambulance
Whose red heart blooms through her coat so astoundingly——

A gift, a love gift
Utterly unasked for   
By a sky

Palely and flamily
Igniting its carbon monoxides, by eyes   
Dulled to a halt under bowlers.

O my God, what am I
That these late mouths should cry open
In a forest of frost, in a dawn of cornflowers.

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