A willow tree hides
at the edge of the orchard,
Streams of withered leaves
veiling its stooping trunk.

Struggling to survive,
Its roots are sparse and fractured,
And its brittle branches snap -
At the lightest gust.

All will for life,
Seemingly ******
Into the soil.

But within the crumbling walls of bark,
Its rings of wisdom lie.
Tales of brutal storms surpassed,
Etched between the lines.

They are not scars,
but stories.
Of ancient solitude, distress,
Yet the labyrinth of spirals
guides the way to peacefulness.

As the days grow shorter and
the dew begins to run,
The branches are stripped
of their facade.

No leaf will ever live to see
All corners of the sun,
But the dusty inner halos
will still glow beneath the bark,

Endlessly.

Eternal beauty;
always found
at the heart
of a willow tree.