Now, I'd like to write little poems that I read wrote for.
I wrote for Bill Williams, William Carlos Williams
and that I wrote for my master Ezra.
This is the one for Williams you'll see where it takes off,
it takes off from that marvelous little objectivist poem where
he's looking out the window and it's raining
and he sees the White-- the red wheelbarrow
and a bunch of chickens.
It's a great little poem.
There's more in it than people think.
So much depends Bill on the way you
saw, the way your heart saw, what your eyes saw.
Not just the way you saw a wheelbarrow or the falls
or the blossoms of the shade tree,
or floss in a rose and 100 other flowers.
Your patients, and the babies, and the measure of your lines
in bridles painting of that dance.
So many things the rest of us would never
have seen, except for you.