June 3, 2011

WIlliams Style Poem

A procession of black moves
Through grassy knolls
Not a sound.
Birds take not flight,
Leaves not lifted by wind.
All is still.
A rustling meets ears.

Can you tell what the intended profound concept behind this poem is? Or can you at least draw one of your own?

1 comment:

  1. To me it seems like a funeral procession. Everything's quiet and calm. The "rustling meets ear part" is like that final goodbye, your loved one leaving. I'm probablly very wrong.