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


Poem By William Carlos Williams

An old willow with hollow branches
slowly swayed his few high gright tendrils
and sang:

Love is a young green willow
shimmering at the bare wood's edge.

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Comments (1)

enemies of all memories, yet guardians of the past, the willows bend their heads towards the river, hiding their faces to make us think they aren't thinking...