The Prophecy of Willows

The willow trees are prophets.

They weep for what’s to come

The watchers of the ages

They’ve seen the earth succumb


The profit for imbalance

For greed and blood and fate

Half-hearted conservation

Too little and too late


The willows grow by water

A fresh supply of tears

With no surcease of sorrow

To mark the passing years


They see no change of fortune

that turns out for the good.

They’ve no power to change it,

and wouldn’t if they could.


The willows tell the story

of man upon the earth,

the smart and strong and stupid,

of death and of rebirth.


The tender souls of willows

So given o’er to care

Do not deserve this duty

Unbroken and unfair


I weep now for the willows

As they have wept for me.

We’ll perish here together,

and finally be free.

We’ll perish by the river,

and drift out to the sea.



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