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Sylvia Plath - Polly`s Tree
Work rating: Medium

A dream tree, Polly`s tree:
a thicket of sticks,
each speckled twig 

ending in a thin-paned
leaf unlike any
other on it 

or in a ghost flower
flat as paper and 
of a color 

vaporish as frost-breath,
more finical than
any silk fan 

the Chinese ladies use
to stir robin`s egg
air. The silver - 

haired seed of the milkweed
comes to roost there, frail
as the halo 

rayed round a candle flame,
a will-o`-the-wisp
nimbus, or puff 

of cloud-stuff, tipping her
queer candelabrum.
Palely lit by 

snuff-ruffed dandelions,
white daisy wheels and
a tiger faced 

pansy, it glows. O it`s 
no family tree,
Polly`s tree, nor 

a tree of heaven, though
it marry quartz-flake,
feather and rose. 

It sprang from her pillow
whole as a cobweb
ribbed like a hand, 

a dream tree. Polly`s tree
wears a valentine
arc of tear-pearled 

bleeding hearts on its sleeve
and, crowning it, one
blue larkspur star.
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