The Willow Tree
The grumble of passing by motors,
Flashes of light from mirrors,
Honk from a far off Honda.
Hustle, bustle.
No time for you.
There are glimpses of its true beauty,
The weeping willow, healthy, vibrant.
Reaching arms, mossy leaves whispering,
Whimsical.
Standing straight, radiating strength,
Enchanting.
This is not the place for a willow tree,
Sprouting from the sandy soil.
Sad beginnings.
Branches weeping, bark fading.
Whispering woes upon scant grass.
Whispering woes upon scant grass.
The weight of the world, too much.
Secrets are not for just one to hold.
Burdens break backs,
The willow bears it
With all the grace it can muster.
You don’t belong here,to be overlooked.
This is not nature, just a ludicrous excuse for it.