A Weeping Willow
Hanging Low.
Its soft, tender Leaves gliding against my face.
And as I am comforted by this Willow
I realize that by cheering me, it slowly dies.
And then I knew.
To save the both of us...
Would mean letting go..
Of that Weeping Willow
Hanging Low.
A Poem by Me: Weeping Willow
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