The Weeping Willow has long been one of my favorite trees. There is a legend about this tree. It is said that the leaves once stood tall, straight and proud until she lost her lover, making her sad, and in her misery she has never again been able to stand tall and straight. Hence, this poem.
The Weeping Willow
The Willow of
Weeping stands
alone by the
river, swaying in
the melancholy
winds that refresh
my punished
heart. From
their great height,
the slender, shimmering
leaves absorbs
my tears. The
Willow's bark makes
medicine to ease
my pain, and its leaves
that once stood
tall and strong,
until two lovers
parted in death,
leaving behind
this sad leafage
filled with misery,
unable to rise
again, making
the Willow of
Weeping a Widow
of Love, standing
alone, yet tall,
with sweeping
branches, able to
offer a haven from
the storms that
try our souls droop
in sadness. This
Willow of Weeping
knows our Secrets,
shares our Stings,
those thin cuts made
with the fine knife
Blade of a Feather.
Knowing, the
Willow of Weeping.
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