The Weeping Willow
There's a sparkling pond in the meadow
that was fed by a bubbling stream.
I laid in my boat, and i set it afloat
and I drifted away, in a dream.
A willow hunched over the streamside,
her laments I could just barely hear,
I watched her leaves flutter, right down to the water
and drift slowly away, like a tear.
The pink clouds provoked me to wonder,
as beneath me the waves gently lilted:
what could lead an old tree,
who’s both grounded and free,
to weep til her leaves have all wilted?
A zephyr brought realisation
and stirred from her branches a groan;
she’s no friend or flower to brighten her bower,
she’s stuck to her spot, all alone.
Now I visit my old friend the willow,
and join in her quiet despair,
at dissonant peace, while we wait for release,
and silently long to be elsewhere.