In the flashes and black shadows <br />of July <br />the days, locked in each other's arms, <br />seem still <br />so that squirrels and colored birds <br />go about at ease over <br />the branches and through the air. <br /> <br />Where will a shoulder split or <br />a forehead open and victory be? <br /> <br />Nowhere. <br />Both sides grow older. <br /> <br />And you may be sure <br />not one leaf will lift itself <br />from the ground <br />and become fast to a twig again.<br /><br />William Carlos Williams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-hunter-3/
