• The Willow and the Maple

    When a young maiden, a willow has
    A lithe form, a slim and supple waist
    A proudly straight back, a youthful glow
    When before her lover, her actions speak of joyful haste

    But after, she is widow is bent in mourning
    Her hair and clothes hang in a ragged crown of sorrow in frayed strips
    The dew dries on her arid lips
    The weeping willow cries in the morning

    The maple wears its scarlet heart on its head
    Upon a golden circlet placed on its flaxen hairs
    But the wind can be heartless, winding about the heart a gentle thread
    Covering it in its subtle snares

    But when the air, faster, tighter, flows
    A thousand crimson blood droplets and a thousand golden tears fall
    And when the true wind arose
    The maple’s heart, dashed to the floor, is reminiscent of a porcelain doll

    Then soon, Death will come for both of them
    It will come softly, when they are old and gnarled
    They may resist, but in the end, they know they have lost their luster, these once-gems
    And in its dark cloak of eternal sleep, they will rest for a while, waiting for a new nightmare for which to be ensnarled