WillowAs I sit beside the babbling brook,
Watching the leafs float towards.
The sides of the cackling woods,
A nymph of night looked down on me.
By sitting so high in a willow wisp tree,
Round the babbling brooks bend.
Where the water flows and ripples,
Life itself seems to struggle to live.
The river flows to the waterfalls end,
In-between there's a waterwheel,
That's big enough to turn the wheel.
That grinds the wheat,
Turning grain into flour,
To make the bread for us to eat.
We all know which way the river flows.
I wonder where the river starts,
Walking upstream to find the rivers heart.
Where the water nymphs dance and sing,
While hunting for the tributaries.
To find were all the rivers life begins,
Then I found one a weeping willow,
Crying at the start.
Never realising the life she gave,
From her broken heart.
The nymphs of the river were afraid of me.
For if the weeping willow,
Stopped crying the river itself.
May start dying I explained to her,
Because of her tears all the good things,
She gave back to earth.
The weeping willow,
Still weeps happy thoughts.
Only now a smilingly contentment,
When she falls asleep.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 33 times
Written on 2022-12-04 at 02:06
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