First of May.
That peach tree you planted
now blooms, flushes pink,
the cherry ones burst purple.
Umpteen types of daffodil
sprout up to gulp sunlight,
flower beds house seeds,
beans and peas in abundance
in your vegetable garden.
Plum batons of rhubarb
protrude, threaten
your little portion of Devon.
But the finest thing
is the girl, the daughter,
a great blossom skipping
from spring to summer,
beaming like a lighthouse
to guide both of you home.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 10:25 AM UTC
First of May.
That peach tree you planted
now blooms, flushes pink,
the cherry ones burst purple.
Umpteen types of daffodil
sprout up to gulp sunlight,
flower beds house seeds,
beans and peas in abundance
in your vegetable garden.
Plum batons of rhubarb
protrude, threaten
your little portion of Devon.
But the finest thing
is the girl, the daughter,
a great blossom skipping
from spring to summer,
beaming like a lighthouse
to guide both of you home.
Written: March 2014.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time that may or may not be part of my third-year university dissertation regarding Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. A work in progress.
In a letter to Aurelia and Warren (SP's mother and brother) dated 1st May 1962 (a Tuesday), Hughes describes how Court Green, the home he shared with SP and their two children, now looks. The title comes from the following quote - 'Frieda, of course, is the great blossom.' (Frieda Hughes is SP and TH's daughter, born 1st April 1960. She's a successful painter, and has written several poetry collections.)
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