a response to the willows
February 10, 2010
I was a swinger of birches,
and yes, I dreamt
of going back to be,
loneliness, disappointment, other considerations
tempted me astray eventually
Down the heavy-rutted wagon trails,
I followed the boisterous and the busy,
convincing myself I was content,
I saw oaks and maples
but no birches where I went
One among the willows,
looking from a hidden
stream-side,
saw me buried among the weeds
not liking any tree enough to climb
She led me to her branches,
they looked comfortable and
bowed from longing,
inviting me up, I took her hand
and whiled away the morning
We played around her shelter
it was all
beauty and mirth
though I sensed, in the long
and tender roots, pain and hurt
She encouraged me
to plant some birches,
so I might swing again,
Willows were not for swinging
sun moon snow or rain
We needed to venture out,
away from the stream’s side,
to say hello and play our roles,
But I never remembered the way
no matter the times told
She brushed off the weeds
and the dusty dirt paths,
But for me she could not
always wait to find
the way to her spot
Lost in love but not trying,
again and again I asked
for help and guidance,
But this is just the way
to end a good romance
On a lonely patch of ground
I finally found some birches,
I’m not sure if they’re the ones to swing,
I’ve collected their seeds
and search for the willow path and Spring
The woods are lonely, dark and deep
but I have birches to sow,
Oh widow of willows
don’t disappear, don’t go to weep
