The weeping willow.


 The weeping willow….

Once we held love over all things. Love was holy and you were a blessing and a gift.

Now like sleeping flower in the Winter. My feeble heart had forgotten the days and night of bliss and passion filled nights.

In a deadly silence, I do pray. I pray for the sleeping flower to come alive again.

“We Poets in our youth begin with gladness, but there of in the end despondency and madness” Wordworth

Now bereft memory seek things disappeared in the lost and found.

Maybe love support to die?

Whence love came will love fall, once whispered a ancient Poet.

I sit by the weeping willow, praying to Lake St. Clair for understanding.

Now blind thoughts leave the heart bleeding . Maybe forbidden love is the foretold place for the yearning heart.

I told the weeping willow. Love alive is better than love dead.


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