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Under the Willow Tree

Under the Willow tree 
Is where I can be found.
Under the Willow tree
Is where I drowned,
In rubber stems that touch the ground.
With leaves so green and profound.
Underneath it's canopy, there is no sound. 

Under the Willow tree 
Is where I will stay.
Under the Willow tree 
Is where I will spend my days,
In a mystic emerald spillway.
Where fairies and gnomes dare to play.
In my own Utopian fantasy bouquet.

naturerhyme

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John Gondolf

March 10, 2019 at 10:57 AM

Hiding beneath a willow tree is like having a secret place, a place where no one can find you. You can be alone in your thoughts. I wrote a poem last fall "Beneath the Willow Tree" mine was about the sensual things that might happen under a willow tree. My best to you. John

Rebecca Ann

March 19, 2019 at 4:57 AM

Thank you John!

John Castellenas

March 7, 2019 at 8:07 AM

I do like the willow tree and I did like the poetry. A wonderful poem.

Rebecca Ann

March 9, 2019 at 8:13 AM

Thanks!

Andrew Fairchild

March 5, 2019 at 12:47 AM

That's such a sweet place to be under the canopy of a tree. But a sad sweetness, in this case. Reminds me of Ophelia in Hamlet, floating in the pond under the willows, in her full dress, until she drowns. Hope all is well.

Rebecca Ann

March 9, 2019 at 8:12 AM

Thanks Andrew, my grandmother always had Willow trees in her yard when I was a child. I would spend hours playing underneath the canopy. My Grandfather on the other hand would always cut them down once they got a certain height. He said that once a Willow tree was big enough to shade a grave they had to be chopped down. He was superstitious, to say the least. My grandmother would keep planting them and he would keep cutting them down, a very corky couple but I loved them so much! Miss them everyday!

Under the Willow Tree

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