z

Young Writers Society


404: Not Found

Oops! This link might be corrupted.
You should check for any Miss Spellings.
While you ponder this, enjoy a poem:


Prospect (1956)
by Sylvia Plath

Among orange-tile rooftops
and chimney pots
the fen fog slips,
gray as rats,

while on spotted branch
of the sycamore
two black rooks hunch
and darkly glare,

watching for night,
with absinthe eye
cocked on the lone, late,
passer-by.


Some books should be tasted, some devoured, but only a few should be chewed and digested thoroughly.
— Francis Bacon