The Willow did not always weep,
in summer sun and breeze.
But sorrow once did quickly creep,
amongst the bark and leaves.
For long ago a maiden fair,
would bask beneath the tree.
Each day as she had rested there,
the tree would always see.
The beauty of her freckled face,
the softness of her skin.
The sweetness of her simple grace,
her love it hoped to win.
Reaching out to take the chance,
in all its strength with care.
Dropping low the limb and branch,
to shade the maiden fair.
To hide her from all pain and strife,
to cradle her within.
To help her through her gentle life,
from now until the end.
But soon she cease to come and lay,
beneath the now bowed limb.
Her heart it seems had flown away,
as hope now starts to dim.
So lonely was the branching Willow,
that in sorrow it would stay.
Forever bent and bowed down low,
until this present day.
By Tom Clark, Copyright 2008