He walks beside the willow tree
the shade is sure his friend
the road seems long and far away –
will he ever reach the end
The sparrow chirps above his head
the grass, so green, below
the stream awash with dancing sun
he sees its ebb and flow
How long has willow been there
will she ever go away
or is her place by stream in park
his shaded overlay
She spans so many moons and then
he holds life – all his own
and sits upon unwelcomed crown
discarding what he knows
Her broken twig will reproduce –
no urgency or haste
holding the crown he puts it down
the tree has time to wait
She passes time – for who; she asks –
beneath you, the ghost chimes
she looks below and with a glow
grasps him in weeping vines.
sensualism 