This is another poem from William Carlos Williams Sour Grapes (1921) collection. It's a tiny love poem; certainly he has written some of the best love poems of the twentieth century. Always something with him, a sly hint or clever innuendo one can well imagine that he is standing upon a flowered rug with marvelous shadows of his fingers as nightingales, amusingly engaged as paramours dancing over his shoes as he loosens them. A nightingale of course is noted for his sweet nocturnal song. Nimble, in a hurry to unlace his surely high-tops, he's adept, witty and full of play, noticing things. What a charming lover!
Public domain text taken from The Poets' Corner