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Sylvia Plath - Child`s Park Stones
Work rating: Low

In sunless air, under pines
Green to the point of blackness, some
Founding father set these lobed, warped stones
To loom in the leaf-filtered gloom
Black as the charred knuckle-bones

Of a giant or extinct
Animal, come from another
Age, another planet surely. Flanked
By the orange and fuchsia bonfire
Of azaleas, sacrosanct

These stones guard a dark repose
And keep their shapes intact while sun
Alters shadows of rose and iris —-
Long, short, long —- in the lit garden
And kindles a day`s-end blaze

Colored to dull the pigment
Of azaleas, yet burnt out
Quick as they. To follow the light`s tint
And intensity by midnight
By noon and throughout the brunt

Of various weathers is
To know the still heart of the stones:
Stones that take the whole summer to lose
Their dream of the winter`s cold; stones
Warming at core only as

Frost forms. No man`s crowbar could
Uproot them: their beards are ever-
Green. Nor do they, once in a hundred
Years, go down to drink the river:
No thirst disturbs a stone`s bed.
Source
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