Willow, my willow

I've always been very fond of this swinging lady of nature!

Willow, my willow, why does thy weep?
fret not teary one, in whispered silence
chance be it your precious leaves wither.

My journeys have allotted as many to the river
to rest along its green banks where you reside
seeking the comfort of your cool, dampen shade
from heat of sun and words of angry man.

When thoughts from me sailed behind closed lids
seeking sturdy anchorage from tempest life,
thy has assisted me with song birds beauty
to ease my pen into delightful musing.

Should the fanning of your dancing limbs
not wave above me again?  Never may that be!
what, and lose the sweet songs of the robin?
never denounce thy value, stormy willow!

Alas, but winter's been unkind to thee
stripping my beloved of cherished adornment
erasing thy dress of sage in color and silk in touch.
Fret not, my willow dear, for spring has listened
and brings a warm and tender cure in days so near!

Reviews

[Willow]

Lol I like this poem. It's beautifully written, and I was automatically interested because my name is Willow for real, well my pen name is too but whatever. Excellent uses of metaphors here. I can picture your setting perfectly: the green banks, dampened shade... lovely.