| Poem for Monday |
[Mar. 3rd, 2003|10:39 am] |
Willow Poem
By William Carlos Williams
It is a willow when summer is over,
a willow by the river
from which no leaf has fallen nor
bitten by the sun
turned orange or crimson.
The leaves cling and grow paler,
swing and grow paler
over the swirling waters of the river
as if loth to let go,
they are so cool, so drunk with
the swirl of the wind and of the river --
oblivious to winter,
the last to let go and fall
into the water and on the ground.
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Have been reading...
British Girl Baffles Teacher with SMS Essay -- the death of English as we know it. Hilarious!
Pictures of Viggo Mortensen at his alma mater over the weekend. Because, yeah.
Gacked from ![[info]](http://www.deadjournal.com:8080/userinfo.gif) ladymoonray, my muses -- they're all famous or well-known writers, sorry, but I did stick to females:
Calliope, Muse of Eloquence - Margaret Anderson
Clio, Muse of History & Writing - Marina Warner
Erato, Muse of the Erotic - Pattiann Rogers
Euterpe, Muse of Music - Mary Chapin Carpenter
Melpomene, Muse of Tragedy - Janette Turner Hospital
Polyhymnia, Muse of the Sublime - Madeleine L'Engle
Terpischore, Muse of Dance - Madonna
Thalia, Muse of Comedy - Lily Tomlin
Urania, Muse of Astronomy - Ursula LeGuin |
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