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My branches slowly droop in pain
As I weep blue-gray tears
For the woodland to gather, gain,
Yet naught am I free of my fears.

I gaze upon my flourishing brothers,
My wooden arms enclosing 'round,
Sweeping inwards with shimmering swirls,
To be sheithed in quieting sounds;
I gaze up at my mother tree,
Her gnarled face succumbing to pain,
I bow my trunk in prayer to He,
For my life bearer to live not in vain.

My willow branches sweep ever lower,
Grazing the lightening grass,
TO comfort that of the meadow flower
Of hurtful events come to pass.

Oh, how I yearn, how I long
To be your average, pretty seedling...
That three-leafed clover among a throng...
The home of a feathered wing;
But alas, it's my time, my choice,
And I unclasp our woven branches;
My leaves drift away as I sadly voice,
"My love, my wonder, my weeping willow,
Not yet is our time but close...
Nothing can forever keep us apart---
Naught you and I on either coast---
For you, in wait, weeps my heart."



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