When the old willow weeps,
Her shoulders bow to the Light,
For her ancient tears sing
In tune with the spheres.
The Light binds limbs to leaves
And defies the shade.
Her skirt, a shelter to the fallen,
Making good blankets and walls as
It’s her learning and duty, her strength
In harmony and balance
To stand firm in storms.
So we go to her.
Our pain, her food
Transmuted into swords and light
For our battles and healing.
In her tears, no regret,
Grief and despair stand aside
In this humble Sallow of Time.
We bow to her
Copyright© 2017/10/05 Barbara Harris Leonhard @extraordinarysunshineweaver.wordpress.com