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Child
By Sylvia Plath
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new
Whose name you meditate --
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little

Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.

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***********
I think this poem I posted of Sylvia Plath's is a beautiful one ~ on its own, no matter the history of the poet.

Honestly I posted this poem the other night because I had just read that Jemma Leech Poem <link> that Artemesia posted and then a bit about this girl's plight. It made me think of "Child" by Sylvia Plath; a poem I have always been moved by, from my first read of it.

Whenever I've gone back to read "Child" by Sylvia Plath, after having learned the little about whatever strangers/the public are privy too it makes me realize how much she must have loved her children and what a good mother she evidently allways was.

I do not equate her suicide with being a bad mother - I relate it to the fact she must have been unbearably tormented, beyond sadness. But not because of her children.
Also, who's to say what her trips to "the doctor" did to her...which included shock treatments and god knows what else. Surely this had an effect on her fragile genius of a mind; her whole being.

~ Galatea