Frank Avon

Words - Poem by Frank Avon

are willows.

They only seem
to weep,
swaying in the breeze.

They drape
from lithe limbs,
bare all winter,
hidden now
in the verbiage
that sways
through the air
to the ground,
a mist of willow green
just green,
that only seems
to weep

Topic(s) of this poem: spring, words

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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Poem Edited: Wednesday, April 15, 2015

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