Tag Archives: My Mother by Frieda Hughes

My Mother by Frieda Hughes

They are killing her again. She said she did it One year in every ten, But they do it annually, or weekly, Some even do it daily, Carrying her death around in their heads And practising it. She saves them … Continue reading

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Full Moon and Little Frieda by Ted Hughes

A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket – And you listening. A spider’s web, tense for the dew’s touch. A pail lifted, still and brimming – mirror To tempt a first star … Continue reading

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