The Willow Tree
The grumble of passing by motors,
Flashes of light from their 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.
Long reaching arms, mossy leaves whispering against the
ground,
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.
At what point did the weight of the world become too much?
There is a secret that it’s holding.
Burdens break backs,
The willow bears it
With all the grace it can muster.
Trunk arching.
You don’t belong here, to be overlooked.
This is not nature, just a ludicrous excuse for it.
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