By Carlos Williams
It is a willow when summer is over,
a willow by the river
from which no leaf has fallen nor
bitten by the sun
turned orange or crimson.
The leaves cling and grow paler,
swing and grow paler
over the swirling waters of the river
as if loath to let go,
they are so cool, so drunk with
the swirl of the wind and of the river –
oblivious to winter,
the last to let go and fall
into the water and on the ground.
I receive a Poem-a-Day everyday. I don’t read all of them, but this one I particularly liked. Especially those last few lines. This poem appeared in Williams’ book Sour Grapes in 1921. Now that’s one good title.
P.S. This poem is in the public domain.