On the hill stands a willow...
Planted long ago....
With gentle hands it grew.....
With time it stands alone....
The branches still give shade....
But none are there to care....
Its roots are long and solid.....
Its trunk solid and true....
But time has shook its branches....
Some lay shattered at the base....
Where children once did wonder....
Now dust is in that place....
A small house in the distance...
Its windows gone with time...
The door gone from its hinges...
No voices found inside....
So tell me my dear Willow....
Standing firm and standing tall...
Has time done its damage....
Has pain become your prize...
And why does the morning....
Say your wisdom is in vain...
And does the wind call truely....
A new name for you sir....
What of your former glory...
Those days of play...
For now they simply call you...
Weeping willow...
Tree of pain....