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.
