In the park,
under the willow,
birds soar high in the sky,
the lake water runs gently,
the geese all walk along the grass,
around it.
I remember wishing to sit under it for shelter.
It was beautiful.
I burned for it as if somehow, it was supposed to be mine.
I didn't own it, not really.
It was oddly beautiful despite it's difference from regular trees.
It's branches were limp, it's leaves giving more cover and almost touching the ground.
It was odd.
I imagined that under the willow,
odd things were possible.
It made me believe in impossible things.
I learned to dream, by just
imaging what was under the willow tree.
Jul 9, 2014
Jul 9, 2014 at 4:03 AM UTC
In the park,
under the willow,
birds soar high in the sky,
the lake water runs gently,
the geese all walk along the grass,
around it.
I remember wishing to sit under it for shelter.
It was beautiful.
I burned for it as if somehow, it was supposed to be mine.
I didn't own it, not really.
It was oddly beautiful despite it's difference from regular trees.
It's branches were limp, it's leaves giving more cover and almost touching the ground.
It was odd.
I imagined that under the willow,
odd things were possible.
It made me believe in impossible things.
I learned to dream, by just
imaging what was under the willow tree.
