This poem by Sylvia Plath seemed to fit the mood of my new collection of jewellery 'objects':
My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter, blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.
Tonight the caustic wind, love
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker
Of the sour lemon moon.
While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green and tart,
Droops upon it's wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.
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