Three willows bowed towards the lake <br />That slept in placid slumber there, <br />A mirror of the morning skies <br />So blue, yet held a chill. <br /> <br />Like flames that flickered in the breeze <br />Their weary leaves were fading fast, <br />Towards the call of autumn days <br />And soon they would be gone. <br /> <br />Some floated on the water's edge <br />While other's sank into their graves, <br />Some lay upon the stony path <br />In patterns where they fell. <br /> <br />I saw the pictures that they made <br />In tapestries of burning gold, <br />That changed with every gust that blew <br />And never were complete.<br /><br />ANDREW BLAKEMORE<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/three-willows/
