The Death of the Williow

When the wind whistles through willow branches bare. While rustling its tousled yellowed hair. The death of the willow so forlorn in sight. Has passed through his prime of life. He pines for what is lost and forgot, while he sits alone to rot. He live not forever like his neighbors be, but dies in spite of all our efforts and pleas. The time when he was so beautiful a tree, as all in the land would happen to see. Is gone and never will we see this beautiful, beautiful, willow tree.