The Willow Weeps? By Ruth Nunn
On either side of waters wide,
Many beauties grow and compete,
Attention in a riverside,
Already hardly incomplete.
Fighting ivy, berries, flowers,
Long green grasses are growing dense.
And from amidst this growth towers,
A sight both wondrous and immense.
Favourite of many to be seen,
With branches stretching high and wide,
Stands tall and slender, draped in green,
A tree with great strength, power, pride.
Gently forming a graceful curve,
Each long and even longer arm,
Has fingers reach the steady swerve,
Of waters which wash slow and calm.
Or push now harder,harder yet,
As rain throws down and river will,
Now seem to pose a wicked threat,
Upon those tips as it does fill.
To wash them with the growing swell,
Off to distant lands, cold, unknown:
A nasty, cruel and wicked hell,
Far worse than man has ever known.
But when the storm at last does end,
The river slower, not so wide,
Has tree with almost sleepy bend,
Growing from its now steady side.
Consistent there by river deep,
Clothed in rich, gorgeous sleeves of green,
The willow’s arms can only weep,
Tears of joy to be ever seen.
As longest, most slender and still,
Strongest, most grand and impressing,
Of all the beauteous sites that fill,
A bank that just bursts with blessing.