Mother Willow
You are the gentle willow, who I often
thought looked weak. Your strong-willed
child that made her loud debut among
your branches, hanging
in the adolescent wind, has grown.
Your leaves have turned a softer lemon-green.
Sparrows gather on your quiet sleeves
to nest. It’s peaceful in your presence.
Once, I could not see enchanting shadows
that you cast. Your bark is deep with lines,
and catkin clusters free themselves
to float across the twilight’s dark divide
where little drowsy seeds prevail
along the moonlit trails.