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