Watching a willow in a storm,
watching it swaying, giving way.
Limbs a flailing like a drowning man,
leaves a flailing and a flopping like a carnival clown.
Give with the force, retreat with the wind,
back to normal during a respite.
Give to adversity, but never concede,
sort of like people and real life.
Mighty the oak so large and proud,
grown to its size from a small acorn.
Resist the weather, fight the wind,
try so hard, they split and break.
That old willow down at the spring,
must be ten feet through the bole.
Covers the spring and all around,
giant canopy of those dangling limbs
Initials and dates on its trunk,
says it is over two-hundred years old.
Swaying in the breeze it is so neat,
flailing and dancing in a storm.
Go with the flow, donít resist,
recover and revive when there is an ebb.
Providing lots of shade on a hot summer day,
keeping the spring cool and protected.
Always weeping the big willow,
never smiling or elegant looking,
year in and year out it does,
survive and much stronger grow.
© By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)