As I sit under Mother Willow,

I listen to the sway of her leaves, Her branches drooping low.

To me She speaks, telling the stories of Old.

The Breeze blows through Her branches, Her voice speaks, old and sweet.

Fae's of Nature have started to dance.

Anemoi's and Dryad's dance together, as they once did.

Mother Willow speaks of Purer times,

A time when the Air was sweeter and The Mother ws calmer.

Back when Mother's weather was more docile and was meant to Heal and Protect.

Willow shows me this knowledge and more.

It is sad to her, and I, that very few can Hear.

Many could Hear the soft voices of Nature.

Now, The voices go on, unheard,

Singing their Songs that no Mortal will wait to hear.