Jaundiced
Fickle movement,
or so it seems;
An old willow bending with the wind.
I undulate from your branches,
both rough and flowing;
An unsuited arboreal life I lead to touch you.
Impenetrable and strong is your foundation,
your roots have taken over any vegetation that once lived in this pasture;
now all the green belongs to you.
And oh, how I was green.
Under you I laid, willow, like Rip Van Winkle
and basked in your complacent shade of protection.
Moving with the tempestuous storm,
a scant bolt took you, something much brighter than I;
This tempest came from the heavens.
Seized your fickle dance and I am in nature no more.
Partial only to your shade, I see through a yellow eye;
Jaundiced.
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