My willow friend

You die and thrive in certain seasons.

Here for the pleasent weather,

but gone in the cold.

Our conversations come like the warm breeze,

but no matter what I say

your branches always seem to point down.

You are greedy for the sun,

but can never get enough to drink.

Don't you know what you need?

I make a crown from your fallen branches,

but you only seem to see the dead.

Oh friend,

You are beautiful in the breeze.

But you offer nothing to me.

Oh willow tree,

you are not good for me.

Why can't I see what I need?