Willow (2)
Loose green tendrils hanging low,
kiss the soft green earth, the bough
kneels with the wind
as if in prayer, a penitent so
humble and predictable, and
just the same as others of its kind;
a pliant bow
that's unreleased, yet like to spring
to heaven with a wish,
a stately, monumental king
of meadow and a murmuring stream,
in haze conceal'd, a misty dream,
a graceful monolith 'twould seem,
cloaked in a blue-grey hush.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2008
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment