The Weeping Willow

5 Comments

Tags:
  • Sadness
    • ,
  • Childhood

    Poem Commentary

    I wrote this after coming to an understanding about my life. I was 10. It still gets to me.

    The Weeping Willow

    There’s a weeping willow in our backyard,

    It’s always weeping and always on its guard.

    My weeping willow is the best,

    For it doesn’t weep like the rest.

    It weeps more and more everyday

    It gets slanted more each day in everyway.

    Do you know who this weeping willow is?

    I do, do you want to know?

    I am my own weeping willow.

    Poem Comments

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    BigDaddyCash commented on The Weeping Willow

    11-13-2009

    Sometimes in the middle of the night after a busy day solving life’s problems I'll pick up my guitar and gather my four legged critters and we'll sit under my weeping willow (my favorite place) and sing our hearts out until dawn. My weeping willow is old, bend and slanted but it still reaches out its branches like loving arms embracing us with its love. Evidently your love for nature’s beauty is found in your weeping willow and has left a deep impression in your heart. Enjoyed this with no thought about when it was written. LOL, BDC
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    Phoenix9 commented on The Weeping Willow

    08-15-2009

    fantastic write and a great insight to your life and realization that some never come to know
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    wheelsal commented on The Weeping Willow

    08-10-2009

    At 10 you wrote this. WOW. I just planted one in my yard. Sally
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    icarus0580 commented on The Weeping Willow

    08-07-2009

    Very cool. I grew up with a weeping willow in the center of my back yard. And I love the way you ended this. Provokes a lot of thought. Makes you want to read it again to get the real message.
    Reply to Comment

    CherokeePrinces

    08/07/2009

    Thank you for your kind words.

    gogant commented on The Weeping Willow

    08-07-2009

    An unslanted thinking went into this one...teriffic for a child of 10 years. If you read my poem, A Tree Has Fallen, it resounds of thoughts on this line.
    Reply to Comment

    Poetry is what gets lost in translation.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

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