night walk.

hang on, willow tree,
you are looking tired and cold

bending down

lower, lower, low.


others have long traded

leaves for crisp silhouettes

but you only now begin

to let down your silvery long leaves
and that without much show.


slender, sparkling-green twists
flutter in the light,

against the shifting color
of the night sky,
falling on me
as i walk beneath
your tossled bows,
riding the winds
of the new cold
of the november night.


peace to you, willow tree,

for always
peace
you pass
to me.
 

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