The Willow by John Blashex

Standing gracefully on its strong base,
Swaying along the river bed,
Talking to the rushing water,
The water in which it is wed,

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They stand side by side
As the wind rushes by,
His branches reaching down to touch his wife,
Their love is enough to make you cry.

But the water keeps on rushing by,
And now wants to move on,
Leaving the old willow behind,
Wishing that he had died.

So the willow weeps,
Every night and every day,
But the river does not care,
And simply moves on its way.

Now the willow has grown old,
Its branches hanging down,
But it weeps no more,
For in its place has grown a small town.

John Blashex

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