The Weeping Willow is happy today
for the foxes that lived in her cradling roots
have gone out to play.
She watches them in her sad way,
smiling between her green tresses
tilting calmly in the wind.
The foxes tumble in the tall grass;
they roll between round rocks
that rest old and silent on the river’s edge.
With yips and growls they scratch and yowl
and hide in the cattails and the Willow’s hair.
They hunt for mice, they sniff the air.
Bold West Wind along the westward stream
blows and blusters down the river’s banks
scattering the grass and stirring the tide.
All around he groans, grim as the rocks
and fox follows fox back into their hole
beneath the Weeping Willow.
Even so, she braces against the Wind,
sheltering the foxes from the chaff and sand
stirred by the brute and wordless gale
till he tires and fails.
Soon, the foxes return to their play.
The Wind is gentle, and the grasses sway
and the Weeping Willow is happy today.
Wed Aug 28, 2013 12:42 am