The Weeping Willow
The rain embraced her fragile soul,
She laid beneath her favorite weeping willow,
The perfect match of moods.
Wondering, ‘why won’t my dear tree
Protect me from this rain as it pelts down harder?’
The willow stood tall, unaffected by the
Questioning.
She was beyond herself, distraught,
Wrought with her own depression.
She had ran off,
Forsaking her favorite tree.
The tree was weeping more
So than normal when she returned,
With company in tow,
The ones dressed in black had an ominous
Cloud hovering above them.
“She will be laid here, beneath her favorite tree,
Her diminished body shall stay with thee.”
The tree, beside itself, knowing his answer finally,
“My branches did not reach to you to shade you,
Even though I stretched them well past their limits,
You needed to reach back.”
There was no response, as the poor weeping willow
Gave his newfound name to others of his kind.
He was the first of his kind,
Of many more to come from his heartache.
~Kaitlin Platti~
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