Weeping Willow declining on its own

Looking for a deep place

A place with shadows

A place to call home.

A taste from the wind that whispers and blows

Sparkling ice when the sky cries if it snows

Along the leaves and above the tree

From a conception that stands still and becomes free.

Next to the castle that stores the Silver Crown

An hour glass full of sand that creeps down

Sensationally perfect timing

Earth spinning forward and thoughts rewinding.

Nobody is there

But in the cave the bear sleeps

When the fire is creating smoke

And the Weeping Willow no longer weeps.

By: Donna Kay Morgese