Days pass, a sprout grows from the darkened damp soil of nature.
Soon to be a great tree.
Rising above the world to see.
It's lazy green arms sweep along the breeze.
Day by day the tree grows stronger.
But year by year the tree weakens.
It's trunk carved with soon forgotten love.
The wind carrying the silent sigh of the tree.
Across those ear's who don't care.
Willow, a warrior against natures worst.
The bark dis-embedded from it's skin
The tree now as old as ever.
Oh feeble Willow, please live some more.
The people gathered with stakes in their hands.
Raising the stakes over their chanting mouths.
They marched a circle around the feeble Willow.
Never again did the wind speak for the tree again.

--Copy right to me, 2009-2010