My daughter and I went to visit Sylvia Plath’s grave again in Heptonstall, West Yorkshire at the weekend. (I know, it’s just one thrill ride after another at our house.)
It was a stunningly sunny day and I took the liberty of stealing a couple of leaves from her grave as a memento.
Now, some people might consider that tantamount to desecration.
I must add, however, that if you look at the picture I took of her grave back in March versus the one I took last Saturday, you could argue that I was merely ‘pruning’.
31st March 202117th July 2021
Whatever side of the felonious fence you sit upon, here’s a photo of Exhibit A.
Anyhoo, after sticking the leaves in my sketchbook and pondering them for a while, I decided to write a poem about them.