Song Of The Willow

The saddest of giants stands tall and wilted.
Though healthy in body its spirit mourns.
Its green leaves long and slender,
Like the fair fingers of a young widow
Reaching down to the earth for her lost love.

Misunderstood, she is scorned by many;
An omen of darkness, and pain of heart;
A symbol of love lost and unrequited;
A stalker of travelers, and death-bringer, she.
And for all these charges she has kept her silence.

There are few who have seen her in true light;
As a bringer of wisdom, and a strong guardian;
An easer of pains, and promoter of life.
Indeed, life springs forth from every fallen sprig,
Shooting up to the heavens from its burial ground.

A firm tower, she stands along the river banks
Guarding against all raging currents.
Her roots dig deep, holding fast their ground;
Grasping tight to protect her beloved land.
She has lost one love, and will lose no more.

Her slender beauty poised in the meadow,
Though scarred in spirit, she welcomes all.
Gently she whispers the winds glad tidings,
And sings the songs of dancing leaves.
For all she gives, and asking nothing,
She is alone.