Weeping Willow

Weeping Willow

Why does the willow weep?
I’ll tell you, one frond at a time,
Like Scheherazade storying the sultan to sleep,
Leading him up to the cliff-hanging eve
When, perforce, she stops for his decree.

What, another reprieve, another night?
The story-telling continues the following eve.
In the gloaming, her voice buys her time.
In the twilight, her words give him pause,
As even segues into night
And night pales into dawn:
Time won, time spent, time—gone.

A thousand and one nights,
A thousand and one dawns.
Seasons of wine, story and song.

But why does the willow weep?
Hush, while I count the glistening fronds
Of a willow’s tears—stars, bright and dim,
Glittering in the mirror of Narcissus’ pond.

Keeping a vigil unasleep,
Counting the slow hours upon her leaves,
Marking the passage of the stars beyond,
Till moonshine glimmers pale upon
Her heavy-laden branches
And, bending, sweeps
The tangled, fallen, leaves
Into the fount of all her tears, hopes and fears.

But why? Pray, why?
Hush now, time to sleep.
I’ll tell you—by and by—
Why the sad willow weeps.