Why The Willows Weep
The Weeping Willow's Silence
Still or swaying,
it speaks in silence.
Can it know
what I know of this world?
Paintings create feelings, too.
A living thing like me,
the weeping willow weeps
in its own way.
Am I beyond weeping?
I find the willows in my life evoke a sadness.
Why that is so I really don't know.
It must bring out something that is in me.
The willow itself evolved, if that is the right word.
It masterfully shepherds the rain to its roots.
It dances in the winds to scatter its seeds further;
not like the maple with its helicopter swirls,
but more like lacrosse balls using whiplash physics.
There is majesty too in its mature swayings.
Gentle breezes are caught and snared like tangled fishing lines.
No, there is something else that labels them weeping willows.
Is it those raindrops shed down its branches like tears down a cheek?
Or, more likely, is it my pensive moods its examination elicits?
Surely there is enough in my human world to elicit sadness and tears.
Am I beyond weeping?
Am I beyond weeping for starving children, or ignored elders who cannot feed themselves?
Am I beyond weeping to see great nations given over to gangs and senseless killings?
Am I beyond weeping for nature's bounty torched for a few harvests of corn?
Am I beyond weeping over the greedy rich harvesting what they cannot store?
I weep for me and others like me, thankful for your reminders.
© 2015 Demas W. Jasper All rights reserved.
A calm summer evening.
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