Dear Willow Tree

Willow Tree

Dance with me, dear Willow Tree

You make this heart young— at 93!

I ponder over ancient tales your rings might carry

The timelines you’ve traveled, the souls you have married.

Those stories etched in bark bleed into my past

And serve as the reminder that youth cannot last—

I remember that day I was plucked from your roots

And hopelessly planted in charcoal and soot.

Oh dear tree, how I have changed with time.

My body is old and soul, wise,

Yet something within me is no longer mine.

I lie here today weeping upon your moss,

Yearning for our memories to water my loss.

My last years long for your feathered leaves

To embrace me fondly and rock me to sleep.