Willow

 And I grew up in patterned tranquillity, 
In the cool nursery of the young century.
 
And the voice of man was not dear to me, 
But the voice of the wind I could understand.
 
But best of all the silver willow.
 
And obligingly, it lived 
With me all my life; it's weeping branches 
Fanned my insomnia with dreams.
 
And strange!--I outlived it.
 
There the stump stands; with strange voices 
Other willows are conversing 
Under our, under those skies.
 
And I am silent.
.
.
As if a brother had died.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...