Prose Poem - Willow

These blossoming vines sang dirges, this willow’s skirt, blew upwards upon will of the wind, playing gaily in the coiffure upon his beatific head. Kissing his face ever bashfully; and seeming to be cool, elfen hands, having sought to know another life form, ever swaying in pursuit of the warmth that emanates only through the epidermis of a human child. She tells the child of the beauties she knew of him.  She sees none for she bears no ocular sight, though she feels ever strongly as her many limbs hover over his head,  acting as natural halo, draping him and cloaking him sweetly in her weeping sea of green foams and rosy hued flourishing. The child shakes his head in fierce retort, adamant that he indeed witnesses more beauties in her glorious natural lament than in his flesh, for she wouldst never come to neither loathe nor envy any willow among her, as he would his brothers.