Forgotten
An 11 year old student poet is composing this poem.
I am only the teacher
The old willow tree stands tall and hangs low
Each tendril, a memory dipping into the black waters of forget
A masterpiece burning in the past
The body of the willow shading itself
From the maternal glow of the sun
With thin withering arms
Buttercups embrace the glow
But the willow does not
For it burns her with regret
Copyright © Sheila Cooperman | Year Posted 2015
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