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The Weeping of the Willow
I know a girl
a special, unique girl
Uncommon in appearence,
bulbous periwinkle eyes
that gleam like crystalline orbs
Painted ivory lips
and watery veins of amtheyst hue
and hair that whispers
sacred morsels of truth to the cattails
at the edge of the water,
The girl sits
On a wild penumbra of green
beneath a tall, demeaning willow tree
fringed leaves cascading
over her jaundiced expression
and fibrous tubers grasp
titghly her waist.
I know a girl
a girl that feels pain
and sorrow
As the sun sets into the crinkled folds of the sky
The girl looks out into the frozen jet black night and sees
no stars, none at all
only a fierce, cruel world
I know a girl
A girl who has never felt the tenderness of a mothers touch
Nor the stern but steady hand of a father
Her heart grows wicked
and coarse
and brittle within each passing moment,
veins bristled and interwined
a plethora of stinging bee’s
devouring her sweet serenity,
It seems as though
the girl has lost all sense of hope
and then one day
the girl was gone
no trace left behind
people soon forgot
went on with their daily lives
Only the willow tree wept
shedding pearl shaped tears
that pounded heavily against
sweetened dirt and rocks
watering the kindred soil they shared
its leaves, once livley and ripe
now wilted away,
brown clunks of charred branches
gnarled trunk ripped from its roots
it waits for someone to take the girls place
to sit beneath it,
and keep its crooked roots warm
to clutch at its thick middle
and stroke it’s battered bark
to fill the gaping hole in it’s center
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