This night grows black as the scarlet moon rises, as the autumn winds blow through the hollow willow tree, alone it stands on a barren hill never to be known, it's branches hang down, weaping like a lost child, it's leaves have fallen and left it cold and naked, it's old, weary trunk is bent at an angle, for it has seen love come and go from it's shade, but alas, it has never truly felt loved itself, why does the willow weap in the cool autumn air? It understands life, for the willow is me...Birth sign: Aries
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Chris Sheffler.