The Willow’s Cry
How the willow dips her face,
her shaken bend of shedding grace,
she bows her solemn neck toward near
her shattered bark of faded year.
In stirring winds she sways a tune
through chilling nights she sighs the moon,
and echoed tones seep through the trees;
The Wondrous Willow,
how she weeps.
With ballet bows through lilac clouds,
her frail laced leaves drift on for miles.
This sadden heart dreams crisper days,
when songs of light reflect her mane,
But when her blooms were sharply slain-
regrets incurred her arms to hang.
Her weaken limbs of winded years
hold heavy woes of backed up tears,
and brittle branches pierce her core,
in bleeding pith of evermore.
Yet now before a brisker breeze,
of no more wails of needed pleads,
it's when her broken spirit opt
to turn from love,
her branches dropped.
her branches dropped.
The choice and creed toward life's restrain,
sown sorrow seeds of harsher rain.
