The Weeping Willow Tree
The weeping willow tree
Stands yonder sad and old,
In hundred winters he
Withstood the tempests cold.
Long since his sons and sires
Forelore the Earth profane,
Were burnt in funeral pyres,
And all his kinsmen’s train.
When wintry gales all things
Smite with their downy snows,
The Nightingale still sings,
That through the willow flows.
His sobbing I have heard
In murmuring high bough,
Whom asked the lonely bird,
Wherefore weepest thou?
13th May, 2017
Copyright © Sarban Bhattacharya | Year Posted 2017
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