The Weeping Willow’s Song

Twine what was once mine,
twig to twig, line to line,
each woe-woven withe
as a tongue speaking pithy
to recall what was once fine
while you reminisce and pine.

Now collect your tears,
my little, red-eyed dears,
in my weeping willow basket—
enough to carry a casket
downriver, past the piers
beyond joys, regrets and fears.

The heads of my kin
are bowed heavy, like men
overwrouht with the sorrows
of bereft tomorrows
of Who and Where and When—
and all such that could have been.

Misplaced Beauty

2019-04-08 18.26.25

See the weeping cherry willow tree
standing at this rural road’s bend?
Its mournful pink petals bloom free,
yet tremble in an alien April wind.

The bough darkens with distiller’s mold
and an overcast Kentucky sky—
does the tree dream beside this road,
its roots longing for the soil of Sendai?

It dreams as a lost lover whose reminiscences
amidst dandelions and bluegrass
remind that it is a foreigner born by cedar fences
while restless race horses snort and pass.