Willow

The soft golden willow
Protrudes and caresses all who care to enter her embrace.
She grows on their appreciation for what she does.
The elements come and the forceful inhabitions of the mighty breeze enters for a visit interrupting her silence.
He swirls her-- filling her soft, sultry prones and pulling her very breath to life with a gasp.
Feeling the arms brush against his forceful powers, he pauses with lustful eyes-- watching her graceful curves bend in the heat of the moment.
In the enticement of emotions, she begins to whisper and moan with excitement of the very life he brings into her calm stature.
The bellowing sun spyfully encircles the two in their ritual of participation.
He gazes and smiles, respecting shadows of new and different origins--things that have not yet come to pass.
As the two dance to unknown tunes, the green-eyed, gray-haired, widow floats along and begins to cry tears of envy and loss--
Causing her friend--the mighty breeze-- to cease and falter.
Until alas all that remains is the willow--unable to flee--unable to move--unable to speak as she watches the sun frolic into the bossom of his mistress, the valley.