: Black Rook in Rainy Weather :

an excerpt by Sylvia Plath


On the stiff twig up there

Hunches a wet black rook

Arranging and rearranging its feather's in the rain;

I do not expect a miracle

Or an accident


To set the sight on fire

In my eye; I seek

No more in the desultory weather some design,

But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,

Without ceremony, or portent.