(Salix x sepulcralis chrysocoma)
Why do you weep? What secrets do you
keep under those golden boughs? Here,

now I will tell you mine if you promise
to wrap your wise and weathered bark

around them, pull them to your center
where rain and sun and despair can no

longer find them, remind them of their
failings and their flailings and their fear.

May I sit awhile? Here, hold my smile,
for the sun has warmed it well, and I

can tell your aching limbs are tired of
holding up the sky. Let’s cry, you and

me, right here, where we can shed small,
quiet tears right into our own reflections,

set them free of star-spilled wishes, and
what we couldn’t say, watch it float away.



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8 Responses to Willow

  1. Such glorious beauty, De!! So cool too, another coincidence! I wrote of the willow for the Imaginary Garden Form Prompt today!! Love that. Your’s is MUCH better though! Hugs!

  2. Shawna says:

    No. You. Did. Not. Write. Me. A. Willow. Poem!!!

    I love the willow tree, the word “willow,” and the gypsy girl named “Willow.” This is a beautiful conversation between a woman and a voiceless living other—a tree is the best confidante. And my is that picture gorgeous. Yellow is a magical color.

  3. M.A.S says:

    This is great. I have a great image of a tree growing bark around your secret. I love it.

  4. margaretbednar says:

    What a splendid poem using the Willow tree as inspiration!

  5. I love the feeling i get from this poem, soft and sweet.

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