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Sylvia Plath - Morning SongSylvia Plath - Morning Song
Work rating: Medium


Love set you going like a fat gold watch. The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry Took its place among the elements. Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival.  New statue. In a drafty museum, your nakedness Shadows our safety.  We stand round blankly as walls. I`m no more your mother Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow Effacement at the wind`s hand. All night your moth-breath Flickers among the flat pink roses.  I wake to listen: A far sea moves in my ear. One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral In my Victorian nightgown. Your mouth opens clean as a cat`s.  The window square Whitens and swallows its dull stars.  And now you try Your handful of notes; The clear vowels rise like balloons.
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