The Willow And The Wren Poem by Edward Sheehan

The morning willow bends her branches low,
And drinks the weeping dew, a thirst endured.
The wind across her limbs draws like a bow,
And sounds a note her feathered friend has heard.

Remembering, he must now keep awake
Her song, which sings such peace unto his soul,
A soul which sleeps as if to quell the ache
Of longing, felt anew from long ago.

But soon he sees from her tuition's view,
And draws upon the bow with tempered hand,
Then, knowing what his love will have to do,
Her pensive tears he'll dry, and understand.

Today she sings her sweet September song.
On evening wing, what joy he'll bring at dawn.