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 weeps for those who've come to be gone,
Yet stands resilient, for the remaining to be strong.
Beneath its bowing, verdant crown,
Lies the essence of willows’ town.
A symbol of silent strength and hope, in times of despair,
The whipping willow, tall, triste and not to compare.
