William Carlos Williams
In the flashes and black shadows
the days, locked in each other's arms,
so that squirrels and colored birds
go about at ease over
the branches and through the air.
Where will a shoulder split or
a forehead open and victory be?
Both sides grow older.
And you may be sure
not one leaf will lift itself
from the ground
and become fast to a twig again.
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Read poems about / on: july
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Comments about this poem (The Hunter by William Carlos Williams )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
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