The Willow's Aren'T Weaping Poem by Whitney Nicole Albright*

His lonely arms tried to fold
And whisper a story ancient and old
But tangled branches showed evidence of persistance
Yet those arms, they only grew more distant

He wears moss as his cloak
King of the forrest, over pines and oaks
Behold his beauty, so old and new
The wind finds pleasure to blow right through

And in his shade, he hides the sun
Illuminates the rays one by one
Through the storms he is defiant
Peaceful he stands, a lonely giant

But, I stopped to listen for some time
I sat in the grass and let my eyes climb
And then I noticed, in that moment complete
Life could be flawless, life could be sweet

To realize how perfect perfect could feel
I grew teary, I broke out in chills
For his aged life made mine feel small
And showed me I hadn't loved mine it at all

He'll still be standing, even after I'm gone
I hope his story is passed along
Oh, he had a secret, and it wasn't worth keeping
But, I must say, the willows aren't weaping