Weeping Willow

Starts the wind with a swoosh!
And the cloud’s sad tears will plop,
And sways and frays the droopy bush
With many a rain drop.

The willows head bows down with grief
For things many things unknown
For the blown away leaf
Or perhaps for being alone.

Her ashen hair sways in her face
Battered by the gusty storm
Leaving her birch like bark
Tattered, peeling, and worn.

But the unfeeling tempest continues on,
Leaving no grass be,
But the willow remains droopy and miserable,
Even when the storm cloud must flee.

The willow’s hair straightens out,
Shakes her barky head dry.
The bright yellow eye of the sky emerges,
turns her hair into rye.

And the sad willow will carry on
Dismal yet wise and old,
Ever cover her face with looming hair,
In rain, wind, or cold.