My willow does not weep but hangs. <br />A wilting willow in the whistling wind with <br />lilting frond-like forms <br /> <br />resembling leaden peoples trembling <br />swinging when the wind blows. Singing <br />songs of listless limbs that pendulously throng <br /> <br />strung up on nature’s gallows. <br />A dozen dangling sallow shadows <br />who flail in execution: scarecrows <br /> <br />poised in painless salicylic crucifixion; <br />where doves embark to love above <br />the branched alcoves of leafy dark.<br /><br />Zachariah Rush<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/willow-song/
