Poet: Sylvia Plath
My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.
Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker of
The sour lemon moon.
While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green, and tart,
Droops upon its wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.
Why this poem (in one line): Considering the plums from William Carlos Williams were still on my mind and I remembered this poem with the puny, green, and tart (tarty) ones so different from the sweet and cold, also notice how the gossip and wind are beautifully connected.