The wet dawn inks are doing their blue dissolve.
On their blotter of fog the trees
Seem a botanical drawing --
Memories growing, ring on ring,
A series of weddings.
Knowing neither abortions nor bitchery,
Truer than women,
They seed so effortlessly!
Tasting the winds, that are footless,
Plath’s shift in tone – from something elegant in Stanza 1 to something more human (arguably) in Stanza 2 – highlights this transfer from a loveliness of these trees to a pain and annoyance at how these trees know “neither abortions nor bitchery”.
Winter Trees