I
saw
a weep-
ing willow
with dried tears—
perhaps it learned to
hold hands with its fears.
I wonder if its roots are still
tangled in self-pity, if it realizes
what a waste it is to not notice its
own beauty. I know its branches
of hope will forever climb up the
sky, for it is a strong warrior
whose spirit will never,
ever die.
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 3:24 PM UTC
I
saw
a weep-
ing willow
with dried tears—
perhaps it learned to
hold hands with its fears.
I wonder if its roots are still
tangled in self-pity, if it realizes
what a waste it is to not notice its
own beauty. I know its branches
of hope will forever climb up the
sky, for it is a strong warrior
whose spirit will never,
ever die.
