Weeping Willow
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She stands beaten and bent,
all exhausted and spent.
And like Medusa's locks,
Her coiffure awes and shocks.
Her branches lash and sweep,
strumming songs in Her sleep.
And mimicking the birds,
the wind whistles the words.
She sheds raindrops like tears,
stifling the children's cheers.
For like the fickle sun,
Her tears ruin their fun.
Flailing branches of green,
She's a sight to be seen.
Swaying with every breeze,
She's unlike other trees.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2017
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