My Tree Weeps

My tree sleeps in the gentle rain.

My tree weeps, a soft, sweet refrain.

Although it is dreary, dark and dank.

I’ve got a lot, much for to thank.

For with the dark and dreary, heavy and wet,

Comes a coolness you don’t have to sweat.

Comes a sweet stillness in the heavy air.

A time to think and it time to prepare.

There is a certain sadness to my tree laden down.

Heavy with rain, nearly touching the ground.

And so I sleep, my head to my pillow.

She is after all, a Weeping Willow.

     Copyright 2001 © Ronald W. Hull



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