I sat in quiet reverie beneath the boughs of the most gentle and
humble of trees, the beautiful golden willow.
The hot sun beat down upon her branches but could not
penetrate the cool soil beneath, so the mossy fragrance of mother
In quiet slumber I went once more to bonnie Scotland, that lovely
land where I was born. To feel again the gentle softness of the
falling rain, like dew that's gathered on the wafting cloud. To
bid the sun farewell and watch the mist creep slowly o'er the