William carlos williams short poems

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

so much depends
upon

a red wheel

Let the snake wait under
his weed
and the writing
be of words, slow and quick, sharp

Snow falls:
years of anger following
hours that float idly down --
the blizzard

If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc

It was an icy day.

We buried the cat,
then took her box
and set fire to it

Ecstatic bird songs pound
the hollow vastness of the sky