my thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
    my tears like vinegar,
or the sour blinking yellow
    of a jaundiced star.

tonight the caustic wind, love,
    gossips late and soon,
and I wear the wry-faced pucker of 
    the lemon-colored moon.

while like an early summer plum,
    puny, green, and tart,
droops upon its wizened stem
    my gaunt, unriped heart.

Sylvia Plath