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Rated: E · Poetry · Emotional · #1425455
My wonderment of where my love was, and if it would ever find me.
Under my willow tree
I wait for thee
The weeping branches sing me a song
A blossom lands in my hand
As I watch the clouds above
Will he come for me?
While I sit under my willow tree?

I hope the blossoms are not withered
When the wind blows him near
Or my willow tree is not dead
Leaving me to be swept away by the wind

Will he come for me?
Before I wither?
Like a flower
In the shadow of the mountain
I will reach for what is not in my grasp
And take it firmly in hand

Under my willow tree
I wait for thee
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