Down in the willows,
among the thickets and thorns.
I try to move silent,
but my spirit’s forlorn.

Each move I make,
draws blood from my skin,
or my feet grow entangled,
as the sadness sets in.

The whispering branches,
lightly brush my face,
narrowing my vision,
as I pray for some space.

I try to remember,
how I became lost,
but the memories disappear,
with each breath of frost.

The willows are singing,
beckoning me.
They tell me to come home,
and they will set me free.

So I keep moving,
without looking around.
I stare at my feet,
as the float across the ground.

Then I realize,
that the thorns are all gone.
The ground’s become clear,
with each note of their song.

I look all around me,
at the meadow of tall grass,
and realize I’ve come home,
and I’m free at last.

No more pain inside,
no more worries or fear.
No more disappointment,
from the ones I hold dear.

I run my hands through the grass,
finally finding some peace,
and lay down among friends,
whose heartbeats have ceased.