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A Willow’s Kiss
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A willow’s kiss
Wakens slowly but
Runs deep.
Joy sings
But always parts,
If not with silent passing
Then with slowly tilting hearts.
The impervious stream flows
Without asking
To measure bliss or sleep,
We just hear the
Whispered roundings
Of time enough
To weep.
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- Lona Gynt, June 2019. All rights reserved.
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I first posted this on BTT #58, buried under a poem about Guilt and murder and war and Lady Macbeth. The gentle willow was chafing being hid underneath her stern countenance and so needed a place to grow on her own. So I am re-planting her here. Here is the link to the original post:
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https://lonagynt.wordpress.com/2019/06/28/btt-58-a-couple-poems-borne-of-other-poems/
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AND…!
Here is a link to the wonderful Chandra Lynn’s Thursday Tree Love Post with a beautiful weeping willow filtering cascades of sunshine instead of tears. And she also has the three definitive songs about willows.
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#ThursdayTreeLove | Why Does the Willow Weep?
Scattered thoughts made a little more random 
here is one of my haiku:
Perspective
Majestic poplars
Garbed in ruby and gold, watching
Our human heartbreaks
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Oh Mem! That is such a lovely haiku. Has not only a tag to the seasons of the trees but the shorter cycle of our human hearts and lives. The world watching us, we are not the Lords of the Earth, but the subjects. Perfect Haiku my friend, it means a great deal to me to hear this from you. 💜
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Willow Weep for Me…what a song. I haven’t heard it in a long time. Thanks for the link! (K)
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Ah yes Sweet Billie, and the indomitable Chandra.. 🙂
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This poem has me breathless. It is so achingly soft and telling. Wow! Tears.
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Thank you my friend, your compliment on this poem means a great deal to me
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Hugs…
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Hugs!
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We just hear the
Whispered roundings
Of time enough
To weep.
There is a certain gentleness and acceptance to this lovely poem that makes me so glad you re-planted her.
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Thank you , I am glad you heard the acceptance in this .
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We’re told, beauty is, in the eye of the beholder. Too often, the willow tree, is dismissed, as an ugly weed, of a tree. Never realizing, its true grace of flexibility and adapting, to the changing environment. Unlike, its stately brothers, like the Oak, Maple, and Birch trees, with the tall majestic crowns. Crush under winter’s brutal assault. A fitting metaphor, for the transcommunity.
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Yes, I guess it is true, and would be applicable to any group living on the margins, like willows often do.
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Thank you for sharing.
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