I miss the Willow though I know why
the ecologists did make her die.
Not a native, she choked our streams;
so though the tree of the poets dreams
all thought of her removed from sight
in the war for nature – a constant fight.
But still I miss her gentle grace;
her weeping strands an interface
‘twixt earth and air and sky above;
somehow she spoke of gentle love.
To lay beneath her weeping strands
could take the heart to distant lands,
where Faeries danced in forests grand;
’tis there beneath the Weeping Willow
many dreamer found their pillow.
Where lovers lay, hearts intertwined
and inspiration all could find;
while children wove their crowns of glory
The Wee Folk whispered Gaia’s story.
But gone from here the weeping bough
struck by the chainsaws deathly howl.
Hello cruel world, I’m here to join this circus.
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