The Willow Poem by Denis McGuire

When looking at the willow
There came to me a thought
It's not the mourning face
That men have often taught

Instead it is a humble,
A small and bashful soul
Bowed down with prayerful mumble
And not with ever-dole

With leafy branch extended
The others do their praise
But Willows be commended
With modest hearts a-blaze

Bowed down and glorifying
The God who came to pay
And not with woeful sighing
But timid thanks they pray