Take Me To Where The Willow Weeps Poem by Samuel Richard Leonard

The lights turned on over the park just now,
orange and still as clouds take their bow
unfurling a chill lit blue by the moon
until the sun comes back far too soon.

Trees stand barren and vacant of leaf
as a barring breeze holds sound of grief.
The willow now dry no longer weeps
held low in this cold, pulled far too deep.

I'm dreaming of spring, the sun wrapped in blue,
when warm rain falls like buds to dew.
The mornings, lazy and densely brisk,
embrace your body with nature-full bliss.