Never Own a Willow Tree

Never own a willow tree;
in winter, the branches fall
gremlin-tossed
and cling to the grass
in spite of rake and muscle.

But in spring,
the tiny green leaves leap forward
to feel the lengthening sun
and in the fall,
they linger like old friends,
who refuse to leave you
alone in the night.

And you can climb low-lying branches
wrap your arms around the trunk and squeeze,
all kinds of games to play,
and if you own a dog …

Never own a willow tree,
in winter, the leaves fall,
one by one
love me, love me not
and you can wrap your arms
around the cold bark.

It will not respond
love me, love me not;
you can scamper among the limbs,
spying the land for love
and to the horizon stretches
the bare trees and blank snow.

But, in spring,
the willows reach to eternity
and from the highest branch
you can see geese
flocking north
in tight formation.

And if you look deep to your heart,
you can see her coming,

love me, love me not,

You can see her coming,

love me, love me not.

You can see her coming.

love me, love me not.

You can see her coming.