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.