Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath

Poem by Shelagh Fraser

Where the mist faded day whitens over frosted ground
And air sharp with cold, cuts with each breath,
She lies beneath crystal winter, her suffering locked in
So cold I could believe it frozen there forever.
Thus chilled by her we are ice and cold enclosing all three;
Her brilliant pain, the most alive of all.

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