Whipping Willow

A poem by Anna Atsu

In the heart or the land of thousands of hills

Stands a willow, tall and grand.

Its branches dance in the gentle breeze,

With each sway, a quiet tale is told,

Of love, of loss, of needs untold.

Its leaves, like pages, rustle and sigh,

As memories beneath its shade lie.

The whipping willow, a shameful pride,

With roots that stretch both far and wide.

It wee…