: 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.
