by Lisa-Kristiina Koponen
Her large body is hunched over, sick with emotion.
Is the Willow sad?
Maybe the Willow weeps to quench her thirst
The nectar she craves from beneath her feet.
I imagine a Willow standing on a dark and gloomy night.
Her limbs produce shadows in the glare of the moon.
Frightening figures frolic out of the corner of my eye.
What was that?
The Willow stands proud like a confident widow.
Strong like an overbearing scent.
Her hands are filled with the responsibility of branches.
Her weeps are silent like the eye of a storm.
Her assumed gloominous is easy to spot like a thief in a store of mirrors.
Many claims that she weeps but I never see her tears.
Waves of wind entice the willows branches to sway.
The tree dances both night and day.
Her winds create whistles as she were hundreds of thin blades of grass.
Soft melodies fill the air like an aroma of sweet sound.
Like an old woman the Willow is wise.
She has seen children grow and buildings fall.
She has outlived many.
The wings of a Willow span out wide like an eagles.
She hangs her branches downward in search of a connection.
She is unaware of her appearance, so beautifully dismayed.
The Willows branches resemble octopus tentacles.
Shade that the Willow provides becomes protection for other creatures.
Houses made of twigs are built and live beneath her long limbs.
Extensions of herself drop to the greedy ground.
Like long voluminous hair the branches gently brush the neck of the tree.
Serenity can be found beneath this worldly Willow.
So deep in the earth she digs her feet, blank to how deep she sinks.
The branches hang so low they could sweep the ground clean of dirt.
She smells fresh but distinct.
Precious rain longs for her.
She waits helplessly patiently for her hydration to find her.
A tree that visually represents sadness,
She pridefully stands alone but not lonely.
How beautiful sadness can be.
She is not aware of her beauty.
Survival is what a Willow seeks.
Looks are deceiving.
The Willow is not sad at all,
Her weeps are misleading.