The Willow
Location
For only the rain shares my sorrow
with its ever tearstained days
And only does this willow tree
match my weeping ways.
Its limbs hang low
much like my broken spirit;
The branches graze the earth
and I lie, too restless, near it.
No cheery disposition
can penetrate this mind
Where the cogs of thought turn feebly
and search, but do not find.
I’ve grown tired of this journey
of birth until the end.
In fact, I find I'm jealous
of the carefree, wild wind.
With no meaning to its travels
and no use to its ways,
It matters not of what it does through life
and matters not of where it stays.
I'm more like the constant failures
that are the ocean’s waves
Crashing always upon the sandy shores,
unable to break away.