Leave me here beneath the willow,
beneath the setting skies:
Now that I finally have a moment alone,
I can learn to drown my cries.
The water here is cool
as if from fall's frostbitten lips,
and I long for some revival
in her ever gentle kiss.
It is the seasons and I
who have missed you the most;
February and its fears.
But it is this willow tree that will coax
out from within me all these tears.
What if you never come back to me?
Whatever will I do?
To whom will I give my love,
when this wood has rotted through?
This willow will cease to dance,
and I'll refuse to sing
A song of how you left us both
for a war that fateful spring.