ΓΟΥΙΛΛΙΑΜ ΚΑΡΛΟΣ ΓΟΥΙΛΛΙΑΜΣ!

WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS

WILLOW POEM

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 loth 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.