Her personage was Willow
Her branches; the way the leaves draped from them
Like a woman's négligée, one size too large
Sheer and revealing, a little glimpse
Effortlessly seducing all
Wordlessly enchanting
Like the virginal sexual angel;
There's a secret magnetism there
In Willow
She has so many buried treasures, captivating
And, the weeping, there's a beauty to her malady
In her silent cries, and dried leaves and eyes
No matter which tree is on a pedestal next to her, eyes are drawn to Willow
More significant trees battle for the limelight
Beg for the flash of the camera, with an inclination to be swamped by the masses, photographed
Flattered, they welcome the fevered Nature-Razzi
Modeling their maturation, their outgrowths, and their leaves
Yet, Willow remains so soundless
She is gorgeous in all her melancholic allure.
What underground tales are buried?
How many stories lie naked in her leaves?
Does each offshoot highlight her evolution?
How deep do the roots go?
The longer the root, the older the tree?
The deeper the secret? The more powerful the entity?
Many trees stand with her
But we always, always first desire Willow.
© copyright 2018-2024 Weeping Willow
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem