rhyme

• bir sylvia plath şiiri..
  
  i've got a stubborn goose whose gut's
  honeycombed with golden eggs,
  yet won't lay one.
  she, addled in her goose-wit, struts
  the barnyard like those taloned hags
  who ogle men
  
  and crimp their wrinkles in a grin,
  jangling their great money bags.
  while i eat grits
  she fattens on the finest grain.
  now, as i hone my knife, she begs
  pardon, and that's
  
  so humbly done, i'd turn this keen
  steel on myself before profit
  by such a rogue's
  act, but --- how those feathers shine!
  
  exit from a smoking slit
  her ruby dregs.