Explore Poems GO!

*perpetual Motion

Willow sapling, no taller than me,
towards the river it leans -
spindly whips covered with leaves
in the water dangle green -
some would call it keening
but not me.
It's too young to know the meaning
of sorrow. This willow is not weeping;
moving one way with the stream,
and back in the breeze,

its constant swaying:
Read More

READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS OF THE POEM