Dark brown swampland meets,

Where frogs roam free.

Willow, that’s her name.

They think your weeping, why have you led them to believe so?

Weeping Willow,

That’s what I’m told happens so.

Age becomes you.

Traded on the Silk Road,

Back in those days, the story goes.

Anne used them to bestow them on her old love John,

Harsh was the life of a traveler,

Anne waited for him for three years,

Wrote him letters,

He wrote her back,

Promised his return,

A promise not able to be kept.

John left this beautiful magnetic sphere,

But waits for Anne of the other side.


The famous Willow,

The one you’ve heard about.

The brilliant tree that pulled off his crown,

Told him to listen,

Something was wrong.

“Alexander the Third of Macedon, watch out!”

He payed no mind, to the Willow’s warning, kept on going down Euphrates.

Trust Old Willows.

Listen to them.

They’re weeping when you don’t.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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