The willow's slender, gentle boughs Extending like so many depressed but welcoming arms Towards the maiden deep below in dark waters.
This is the willow that grows aslant a brook. This is the tree who witnessed the mad ravings of a girl, Who watched as she did pick those flowers And draped them as a noose about her form.
The tree, the only witness to the young woman's fall Or perhaps a leap, a jump, into the abyss. It is for her that the willow weeps.