Underneath the shade of the weeping willow, 

the whisper of one hundred souls makes me shiver.

Their cold hands wrap around my throat and it's the only embrace I know.

There's an odd comfort like a noose tightening,

but right before the grip is too much they let go.

I can almost taste the sweet air i gasp for as it travels down my trachea. 

I am alive and surrounded by one hundred ashamed spirits.

They ask for forgivness for they were merely jealous.

Jealous that my voice is not a mere whisper in the wind.

Jealous of flesh that wraps my bones.

I listen to their grievances.

I listen to their fears.

Suddenly they are gone and the world is quiet. 

The leaves of the willow drape over me.

Those spirits did not let her rest and haunted her for one hundred years.

She is grateful for my listening ear and is thankful I am alive, 

and frankly so am I.