Crooked, black tree
on your little grey-black hillock,
ridiculously raised one step toward
the infinite summits of the night:
even you the few grey stars
draw upward into a vague melody
of harsh threads.
Bent as you are from straining
against the bitter horizontals of
a north wind,-there below you
how easily the long yellow notes
of poplars flow upward in a descending
scale, each note secure in its own
posture-singularly woven.
All voices are blent willingly
against the heaving contra-bass
of the dark but you alone
warp yourself passionately to one side
in your eagerness.
Trees
William Carlos Williams
(1)
Poem topics: alone, dark, night, tree, wind, long, infinite, bitter, step, yellow, secure, melody, black, I love you, I miss you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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