Grave lilies long dead
but the irises still bloom
in my May garden
One evening, on a sailing holiday in Turkey many years ago, our party of eight caught a ferry from our marina to nearby Fethiye for dinner.
It was nearing the end of a week’s bareboat cruise along the Turquoise Coast and we were in high spirits. As we sat around the dinner table, giggling at how silly we looked in our Fez hats, the challenges of the week (sea-sickness, blocked toilets, a lost anchor) were honed into war stories for the pub. On the return trip we started to sing.
Love set you going like a fat gold watch…
So begins Sylvia Plath’s poem Morning Song, written in 1961 as a tribute to her baby daughter, Frieda. Read the whole poem here. What a fabulous gift from mother to child? It takes me back to the joy I felt the day I brought my first baby daughter home from hospital. I could hardly believe that they let us leave with her. So tiny and pink with hands like miniature starfish waving their fronds.