WILLOW

Cry, fair tree, tears of the ages, so much you have seen in so short a span of time, remembering the generations that have past, time frozen upon your face, recalled in your limbs.

A stolen kiss beneath in the shadows of your branches, the laughter of a child soaring through the morning sky, higher and higher with each return in a quest to reach the sun.

Eyes that have seen death and rebirth remember yesterday with bitterness and see tomorrow with pessimistic rage. The winds of time have only changed your coat from death to life with each season and back again.

How many times, destiny pouring out its message upon progress, thy very existence threatened, though nature would, its destruction withheld enough to enable age.

Cry fair tree, cry, an age has past in the milky white smoky dreams, to dense to view the future, though so many futures have past into yesterdays then further into what once was.

What once was, into the distant past, but each memory retained in the rings of yesterday, and each ring a testament for tomorrow.