Forest of Willows

Everyone knows what happens
At the start of a day
When the clock strikes Dawn
And the mocking-birds play
And call out their songs
That they stole to do wrong
From the blue blue-jays
And from the nests near the pond.
Everyone has heard
Of the bitter-sweet tales
That the blue-bonnets spun
From the light of noon
To the set of the sun
Which sings itself to sleep
Laughing at the pun
Of the cool, muddy creek.
Everyone will listen,
To the whispers of the creek
As it gossips to the willow trees
Who sway their sad leaves in repeat
And the wind rustles and plays
With the tales of mystery
That make the forest’s history,
And lives in the weeps of the willows.
Everyone has seen,
And heard of my tale,
And know, this is true,
And it all happens on the shore
In the cool, quiet forest,
Where the willows weep
And the wind creeks
And the creek tells tales
With the clever blue-bells
And I sit on the sun-dappled floor
Of the Forest of willows.


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