Friday, February 25, 2005

The Hunter

Sour Grapes (1921)
by
William Carlos Williams

The Hunter

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.

Sources:

Public domain text taken from The Poets' Corner

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