Down a road of swirling fogs
And through screens of rural grey,
Life moves onward blindly,
Complete in disarray.
No ferns or mosses, No seed
To heal men’s fruitless losses.
A black and barren land it seems
Will fill the voids of my dreams.
Until merging into view
From fogs and churning rains,
Visions of a Willow Tree
Lend branches down, onto me.
Her trunk stands mellow, and graciously
Flowing by is the spine
Of her drooping leaves.
Up her bark I then twine to climb,
To reach her timbered peak.
Hanging, climbing, leaping, soaring,
And from cleft to branch I rise,
Grasping green and golden skies;
Above that barren land
And it’s sea of rolling mist.
Sprays of light dance round me,
As the Sun shines down his gift.
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