- Books, Literature, and Writing
The storm blows mild
Once ravaged, now defiled
An innocence lost, has peculiarly
left me feeling like a child.
How did it all go so wrong?
Amidst an angry throng
of chaos and noise
I lost my grip and poise
And now what could have been-
The wind stripped the bark of the oak bare,
and though once a Lebanon Cedar,
now a weeping willow stands there.
Desolate she cries to no rebate,
"Pay me back for what you have taken from me!"
-"No" seethes the wind,
"I will give you no reverie"
Weep Weep, my willow, weep,
for death has taken what you hoped would be sleep.