Why I Weep

I'm named a willow tree and live in grace, the whole of me distinctive in its shape. My elegance well suits this lush landscape of hillocks flung across the field I face. . . and gentle rills meander through this place. In spring I don a long virescent cape comprised of many supple arms that drape to earth and, with Eve’s shadows, interlace. Oh, countless times Sun’s flecked my every leaf and Sky distilled her stars as night would creep. Young lovers, though, have fled, their time so brief. They used to spread a cloth to eat; then sleep beneath me in my shade. They knew no grief. . . Not privy to their destiny, I weep.