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<h3>Poem of the Day 每日诗歌</h3>
<blockquote>
<p><b>Edge</b><br><cite>Sylvia Plath</cite></p>
<p>The woman is perfected.<br>
Her dead</p>
<p>Body wears the smile of accomplishment,<br>
The illusion of a Greek necessity</p>
<p>Flows in the scrolls of her toga,<br>
Her bare</p>
<p>Feet seem to be saying:<br>
We have come so far, it is over.</p>
<p>Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,<br>
One at each little</p>
<p>Pitcher of milk, now empty.<br>
She has folded</p>
<p>Them back into her body as petals<br>
Of a rose close when the garden</p>
<p>Stiffens and odors bleed<br>
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.</p>
<p>The moon has nothing to be sad about,<br>
Staring from her hood of bone.</p>
<p>She is used to this sort of thing.<br>
Her blacks crackle and drag.</p>
</blockquote>
<p><cite>Shared by Runxi Yu.
<br>由 Runxi Yu 分享。</cite></p>
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