It is a willow when summer is over, <br />a willow by the river <br />from which no leaf has fallen nor <br />bitten by the sun <br />turned orange or crimson. <br />The leaves cling and grow paler, <br />swing and grow paler <br />over the swirling waters of the river <br />as if loth to let go, <br />they are so cool, so drunk with <br />the swirl of the wind and of the river -- <br />oblivious to winter, <br />the last to let go and fall <br />into the water and on the ground.<br /><br />William Carlos Williams<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/willow-poem/
