William Carlos Williams

(17 September 1883 – 4 March 1963 / New Jersey)

The Hunter - Poem by William Carlos Williams

In the flashes and black shadows
of July
the days, locked in each other's arms,
seem still
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?

Nowhere.
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.


Comments about The Hunter by William Carlos Williams

  • Brian Jani (6/5/2014 10:32:00 AM)


    Well written Mr William (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: july



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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