The Willow

The Willow

Her branches flail and break as cold winds blow
Fending icy anger in her rage
As tender bits that tear and fly bestow
Future justice, plantings set the stage.

They rise, these broken branches, in the mire
Growing slowly in their mother’s form
Relenting, bending, planning, they conspire
To one day craft a calmer standard norm.

A forest they become and now protest
Feral winds, their mighty numbers hold
That dense green army savagely oppressed
Stands strong and proud entwining branches bold

A mighty forest stands where once was one
The crushing gale force winds have been undone.

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