My Willows
fine mist of green
on my
ancient
willow trees
broken from a hard winter wind
I stand behind them looking over
and see another story not visible
from my window
bark is smooth and
twisted turned
these trees are very old
next stands a giant chestnut
rare in these woods
but magnificent
a general and commander
dark wood and hundred year stretching branches
not a bud yet
sit and listen
by the stream
for sounds of a story one hundred years ago
we can only guess
but I feel them dancing in the yard.
I see the well.
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