Ode to a Willow Tree


Swaying in the gentle breeze
like a strand of hair of a child.
Hiding the clouds above
and allowing just a hint of sunlight.
Black spots with one eye closed
thoughts that a little child knows.
Tickling grass under bare feet,
a cool drink in the heat
Falling down and scraping a knee,
recuperating under the Willow Tree.
Happy when we have happy thoughts.
Scary when we think of monsters.
Will that Willow Tree eat me up?
Will it tickle me with it's soft strands?
Swaying again in the gentle breeze.
This darn tree always makes me sneeze!

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