I, unlike one sylvia will leave poetic dignity in tact
Lack of regard for form and style is what her poetry lacked
Rhyming couplets I said to syl’, they’re in, hip and hot
And get your head out of the oven lady, a chicken you are not

At this point ted Hughes (who would later appropriate plath's entire body of work) came in and sighted
Daddy! daddy! the delusional sylvia cried
Too Freudian it all was getting, to Freudian for me
So I left the pair with a tulip, an oven and a bee

How it ended, to this day, still no one knows
  But that’s a lie, she cooked to death and met cerbris in hells throws                                                                                 her life, the wintering, the bee boxes and daddy sylvia, she did run far
The one question left on all of our lips is what the fuck’s a bell jar