David and the Willow

This is something I wrote for a creative writing class; We had five minutes to describe a tree, then another five to introduce a character somehow connected with it.  I'm hoping to turn this into a poem or short story.  Any ideas/suggestions are welcome. 



    The tall willow stood, gaunt and skeletal, by the edge of the cold water.  Its rough bark was torn and deeply scarred, and no leaves hung off its branches.  Looking up from the ground, its thin, decaying trunk seemed almost grey, and its crumbling twigs fractured the view of the stormy sky.  With each gust of wind, more and more of the willow seemed to fall away into nothing. 

    Spread out on his back on the wilted grass below, a young man with shabby clothes and a poet's unfocused expression stared up at the dying tree.  His face was streaked with dirt, and his clothes were worn almost through at the knees and elbows.  An old, tattered copy of Ovid's Metamorphoses was wedged into his pocket.  As the storm blew on and the rain began to fall, he didn't think to move but rather watched the sky abuse the poor old tree with a cruel, dispassionate interest.