They are the last romantics, these candles:
Upside-down hearts of light tipping wax fingers,
And the fingers, taken in by their own haloes,
Grown milky, almost clear, like the bodies of saints.
Sylvia Plath
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Halloween Light
Labels:
candles,
jack o'lanterns,
poem,
poetry,
sylvia plath,
Vintage Seance
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