The Meeting Place...
shall we go to the meeting place,
down the path by the willow?
where the last birds go to rest,
and prepare for their journey.
where the sound of the creek
is all that's heard,
except for crickets and chattering squirrels.
the occasional cry of the butterfly expiring,
and the pines weeping for lost lovers.
following the trail of the ants,
and the pawprints of the wolves,
we lie beneath nests left empty.
naked and close, not speaking a word...
we wait on moonlight,
and poems written by the darkness!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Willow tree by the lake
Willow tree by the lake standing tall since the day one
Home for birds and squirrels, place of fun
Breeze will come and play with her branches
Whistle at them before they move on
Any time, at mid day, at night or at the crack of dawn
Humming bird feeder and bird house hanging all over the tree
They swing back and forth and hang free
All summer it is a fun house as the birds come and go
Rabbits will hop around on the ground below.
Ducks will sit idle or sleep under her shade
Squirrels will carry food up the trunk, not afraid
During winter when nature sleeps no life around
Willow tree will shelter the birds, the squirrels
and even the worms under it's ground.
Many yrs ago I planted the tree, saw it grow day by day
Sat under it, wrote poems, it made me happy and gay
I know one day my time will be up and I will be gone
But my willow tree will still be here, singing with the wind at each dawn.
poem by Syed Karim
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Self Portrait
The willow tree stands alone.
It grows alone, relying only on the Sun and the Rain.
This willow tree offers shade.
It only shades during the day, casting a monster
of a shadow in the mornings and evenings,
its size shrinking in between. Its shadow
is solid in some places, but has empty
places of sunlight dotting the ground beneath
it, allowing room for purity among the darkness.
This willow tree is immune to the Wind.
It bends whichever way it needs to survive,
sacrificing its tiny leaves to be carried away.
This willow tree is a home.
Small birds build nests on its branches,
laying eggs that will bring new Life to the World.
The nest is supported. Some things of little
weight can be supported, but anything that drags
the branches too close to the ground
will be dropped so the tree can be saved.
This willow tree is weak.
As it grows, its branches come closer and closer
to the ground, for it cannot support the weight
of itself anymore. It cannot help its own soul.
With one swing of an ax, the tree will be felled.
It will be finished, left there to be eaten
and burrowed in and rotted away by the Earth.
poem by Zoe Guillory
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Reflection
On a trail, I spotted a turtle
lost from its home by the water,
I said to the turtle,
'If you're lost, I can help you, '
but the turtle just kept plugging along.
On that same trail, I saw two squirrels
racing to and fro,
I said to the squirrels,
'If you're lost, I can help you, '
but the squirrels just kept racing along.
Further down the trail, I found a mirror
that someone had dropped,
I saw God in its reflection-He said to me,
'If you're lost, I can help you, '
but I just kept walking along.
poem by George Aul
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Am.... (Disgust)
i am the soldier,
crying in his helmet.
i am the gas pump,
guarded by guns.
i am the foreclosed house,
weeping and vacant.
i am the oil rig,
convicted of murder.
i am the big truck,
parked in disgust.
i am the nursing home,
with grave like beds.
i am the field,
unplowed and untended.
i am the bowl,
filled with empty.
i am the boots,
left by the door.
i am the ache,
the want and the need.
i am the hand,
reaching for your breast.
i am the paper, the pen,
the letter never written.
i am the empty bed,
beneath the willow tree.
i am the darkness,
that comes and devours.
the chill of distance,
the tears of an angry god!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
5: 10 P.m. Along A Narrow Path
late afternoon at 5: 10 i look at my watch.
darkness is coming like a grey blanket to the mountain.
i walk on this narrow path.
Grassy.
It means no one passes here as often.
Secluded path.
Less entered.
Or maybe forgotten.
Or maybe avoided.
Dangerous perhaps.
I walk on it for a time now.
No sound of birds.
Just darkness trying to steal every light of day.
And then i meet you.
My eyes are poor to sight now.
I see a shadow meeting me,
and when we are too near
i see your smile. It is met with my smile too,
like lovers.
I like them.
these smiles to be lovers anyhow.
I am thirsty.
I am hungry, for love.
Or even lust.
I am very hungry.Indeed i am very thirsty.
Then you pass by my shoulder on this narrow path.
You smell like a big basket of flowers,
the champaca that i grow
right in my own backyard that i always smell at night
in my place.Alone.
The cold air carries your perfume inside my nostrils.
It rebounds within the corners of my mind.
It seeps in my soul.It is absorbed like urine to a pamper.
It stays in my heart.
I am reborn.
My heart is restless again.
IT is you that i meet.
It is your perfume pervading on that narrow path
deep down into the bonemarrow of my soul.
I like the dark clouds to rain.Hard, unstopping.
I like to run.
Anywhere.
I like to bathe
under the rain. I like to get wet all over.
I like to play a game under
the rain. I like to be a child again. Hardheaded. Sick.
The ground where i stand is dry. My chest is empty and my
body is fuming with hot lava like a volcano.
I like to erupt.
I like to undress and be naked.
I like to throw my hat to the trees.
Myjacket to the wind.
My shoes to the forest.
My socks to the creeks.
My watch to the farthest skies.
I like to throw away this book of poetry that i keep inside my armpit.
I like to burn it even. I like its pages to be blown like leaves
anywhere. Anywhere. I like them lost forever.
I like to jump into the river. I like to drown. I like to be lost
at the bottom.I like to close my eyes. I like to be carried away.
i do not like to go back to the narrow path.
I do not like to meet you
again and pass me by.
It is always like that.
Meeting. Opposite ways.
Leaving. Departure. Regrets. Silence.
Perfumes that do not leave me.
Where does love live? what is her name?
I do not know you, Love.
Why is it always like that?
Opposite ways. Repulsion. I never felt
what true love is. Obstructed. I don't know.
I was never embraced with the warmth of
its armpits.
I am the air gushing, going and going, arriving at nothing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Walk The Path In Stillness
walking barefoot...
down alleys dark,
while children play
with garbage and broken glass.
past unlocked doors,
through buildings spent,
left for ghosts and tribal memories.
past walls charred by sweat and time,
left to smolder with empty ache....
to the time before the time before,
when living had a name.
under war torn skies,
over bodies strewn,
and left for birds of prey.
down dusty roads,
holding a child's dark hands,
in shadows anguished pain.
the skies aflame,
as if stars died, and every veil is rent.
to the sound of freedom's hungered drums,
and shadowed wings beating fury.
to the barren room,
the mattress on the floor,
frost upon the pane.
where lovers turned upon the spit,
with bodies made of water.
eyes wide open, living thrust,
tongues tracing maps to destiny.
the hardened cock,
buried in soul's wet lips,
while angels silently prayed.
and the candle burned
till the break of dawn,
and moonlight's final kiss...
the barren room of the empty house,
where eternity revealed!
the field once plowed
has now turned brown...
sparrows pick at the dust.
and scriptures written
in hickory rust,
whispers lost to sound!
battles fought, and flags laid down,
cover caskets that wait for dirt.
the little girl's shoe, the old washtub,
the broken pot beneath the window.
while dogs bark, and ants converse,
and hearts are covered with snow.
the faces of god fade into wood,
stacked and thrown into the fire.
be it dream, be it madness,
or the simple turning of the wheel...
the wind turns with a final kiss,
bare feet walk the path in stillness!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Journey Home
The elephant was on her way,
Her calf was close nearby,
You should've seen their bodies sway,
Both marching, heads held high!
'Keep up with me! Left, right! Left, right! '
The calf was telling Mum,
The two of them were quite a sight,
Since so far had they come...
For many miles, the calf endured,
Without a thought to stop,
But Mum, of course, was quite assured,
His legs would flip and flop...
His trunk would droop and trail the ground,
His pace no longer fast,
With barely strength to make a sound,
As even more miles past...
And sure enough, she heard those words,
That parents often get...
The journey home, it's for the birds!
'Hey, Mum, are we there yet! ? '
'A few miles more! ' she told him straight...
He moaned and groaned, of course...
It's just right then, though life was great,
He'd rather be a horse!
Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2012.
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'The Journey Home'.
More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Looking For Sugar!
following the trail of the ants,
past empty factory buildings.
past fields not planted.
past vacant store fronts.
past cars up on blocks,
and signs yelling 'for rent'...
following the trail of the ants,
looking for sugar!
following the trail of the sun,
from day unto night.
from family to forsaken.
from home to the road.
from god to the faces
that ring like haunted church bells,
following the trail of the sun...
looking for sugar!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Endless Journey
The journey we make in life is long and hard. This
journey which has its crossroads. . . when we get to them.
we have to decide on which road to take, what path to
make and what's down that road. This journey that we must make has many obstacles,
many detours, many signs. We see the signs, but never
heed its warnings, we see the detours in life, but seem
to stray the other way. Life is rough and so is this journey that we're making.
This journey we make has its trail of tears and its path
of happiness, the two never meeting. When finally, we choose our path, we must follow it to
the end, to the end of its road, which is our destiny in
life. That's when life begins.
poem by Anthony Taimanglo Taitano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
This Butterfly Has Been Cocooned
Can ants gathering in the smallest of hills...
Prevent the butterfly from flaunting its color?
They may prejudge its beauty.
And ability to attract.
That is established and known.
They will still be ants.
This butterfly has been cocooned.
And is not wounded by their remarks.
As it embarks on its journey.
Free to glorify its life!
It flies!
And without trying...
Sparks attention!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Winter abode
God has made it as magical home
Each and every living object is welcome
What a fresh air to breathe in and think!
Not a slight idea to get lost and sink
Whole universe is made an accommodating place
Anybody can fly off to save the life and face
As the skilled people go with consent and permit
The birds need no sanction as they are capable and fit
When severe winter sets in, they prepare for migration
My country has found for them a strong bond and close relation
We have warm and sweet fresh waters comfort their stay
How long and torturous journey they undertake to find the way?
No international boundary mars their onward journey
In thousands they flock in sky and land in plenty
Natural breeding ground opens for them with lots of safety
What a magical show with the blessings from almighty!
When we are fighting for piece of land and secured place?
They have all the techniques to prove and preserve the race
How many years of existence have they continued?
The safe passage with traditional love route nicely pursued
It is nice and heartily welcome step to observe their happy plight
How have they proved by showing to world that they are right?
There can be safe refuge without any bloodshed in this part
Not compromising with stated bitterness and to depart
When nature is with us to observe calm and peace
The birds show and present their nests at the beaches
Whole atmosphere is filled with great joy and happiness
What can we understand from these birds in such case?
No one is loosing path and gets lost
It may be long but has nothing to cost
If will power is strengthen with belief
We, as sensible race, can provide the relief
*Migratory birds visit Gujarat desert every year in winter from Russia*
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Late Aubade & Explanation
Once in a field, in a wide rising stretch of paintbrush
& purple vetch, we stuck down
a tent, like punctuation, and drank through the evening
our bottle of bad wine. When you looked up,
the weather was holding: a few breezes,
a full moon silvering the flowers
to white. In the distance, I heard the ache
& slide of snow, the beginning of crickets. It was twilight—
the landscape was lifting.
•
A mountain. The clouds, further up,
came down. A Book of Hours. A tent in which we twisted,
pressed each against the other, drunk
and when I stepped out into the cool
moonlight, there was drifting through the watery
end of the meadow, a deer
pale beneath pines, beneath those soaring
darknessess. Then there was only darkness, the
idea of a deer.
Remember, I never wanted
to be alive, to have
an outline. Better, I knew, to slip
unheld, an opening into mist.
poem by Kate Northrop
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet: All Things Have a Purpose
A wild tree grows for ants to be its guests!
Old water-tank helps frogs spawn, croak each year;
A neem tree grows for birds to build their nests;
The refuse-dumps rear insects sounding ear.
The cut tree-trunks help white ants eat and breed;
The papayas help birds to beak with joy;
On wild berries, squirrels happily feed;
The tall palm-trees house pea-fowls to enjoy.
The wilder trees add greenness to the earth;
The wild flowers give nectar to wild bees;
The parrot-noise though disturbing, gives mirth;
His duty to His creatures all, God sees.
Don’t blame something if you can’t understand;
God knows the uses of the desert-sand!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In The Small Things...
it is in the small things that we die,
in the breath of cardboard boxes,
and the silent scream of forgotten things.
in the scent of pine needles fresh fallen,
and the sound of the creek crossing rocks.
in bat droppings, and abandoned nests of straw....
in smoke curled into the candle.
in squirrels' prayers to fading light,
and the sound of tires on an endless road.
in clouds hanging just above the treetops,
in the single chime of the church bell.
in the broom sweeping the floor of the soup kitchen,
in old men telling lies and shuffling to keep warm.
in the baby curled against the breast,
in the letter never finished.
in the faces of god on milk cartons,
in the wino pissing in the alley.
in the 'i love you' that you choked on,
and the silence that replays.
in the coffee pot singing hymns,
and gravestones whispering to each other.
in the empty barracks and unloaded guns,
in the bare limb tree that still believes.
in the thunder of the butterfly's wings,
in the wrinkles on the old man's face.
in the forgotten nails of the abandoned house,
in the footfall of forever's ghosts
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Where Are the Birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
‘The skies are empty and grey at dawn,
They’re empty and brown at noon,
Where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
Deep in the afternoon?
Even at dusk when the air is still
Or the cool breath heaves from the sea,
I wait for the beat of wings then, Bei Bei
Rushing to comfort me.’
‘The birds were once when the paddy fields
Ran down by the river tides,
When the sky was blue and the air was clean
And the trees reached up to the stars.
The birds were here when the skies were clear
No buildings blocked the view...’
‘But where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei
Why have they gone from you? ’
‘They left when the smog came rolling in
And the insects died on the ground,
When the grass turned white and the acid rain
Caused all the trees to drown.
They left when the river turned yellow mud
And the fields died under the road,
When men built towers of thirty floors,
They left the town in droves.’
The skies are empty and grey at dawn,
They’re empty and brown at noon.
‘The birds of Wenzhou took their nests
And travelled to old Hangzhou.
They went to live by a wondrous lake
That tales will tell, is blue...’
‘Where are the birds of Wenzhou, Bei Bei...
Have they forsaken you? ’
8 November 2005
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
All These Poems I Have Written/ What Are They?
ALL THESE POEMS I HAVE WRITTEN/ WHAT ARE THEY?
All these poems I have written
What are they?
What do they give?
I wait in the darkness
And know the morning light will come
But will it ever come
For my poetry?
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Insomniac
Insomniac sit
With your head on your pillow
And think of the girl who
Lies 'neath the willow
The girl is much more
Much more than she seems
As she longs with a yearning
To reclaim her lost dreams
It's midnight and dark
And she sits there to cry
And hoping and thinking
And planning to die
What good can you do
When you cannot sleep
And you can't ask for help
You can't make a peep
So insomniac lay in
Your cold empty bed
Close your eyes
And lie with the dead
Insomniac rest with
Your corpse in the ground
Your soul is at peace
It won't make a sound
And the willow will stand
In the cold blustery night
Fighting the battles
That you cannot fight
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Treading Dangerously
When we embarked on this path together
Skies at sunrise and sunset seemed deeper
While our glowing shadows cowered in their blaze
Wary like the spring that's only heard of the winter
I ask the spring -Does the winter ever creep in?
It answers; - I don't know.
Then I realize a daunting question like a mountain stood
On our path, to surmount it, I tried to bridge things my way
At times even with coldness, but I stood rebuffed
Cause you stood on top of the hill in pride, nonchalant
I ask the mountain -Will you stand in my path again?
It answers: - I don't know.
Then I bowed to your ways and prayed
the mountain would go away; it did
but at the back of my mind it did raise it's head
Always looming in the horizon
I ask the horizon-Is it still there?
It answers; - I don't know
Now I was lost in the song of spring & the mirth of the rains
The mountain had lost its edge, yet afraid it's talons could hurt
I hid my dreams in your palm, afraid of being robbed
This was neither the place nor the time to reveal them
You shut your palms tight and shut out all the light
I groped in the darkness with only the stars that whisper
Clueless in the wind shimmering illusions
I waited for you to come through the dark end
And when I reached out I held no hand
Did I err? - I ask the night
It answers- I don't know.
I wait now for you, to throw crumbs my way
Living no moment, but dragging from one to the next
My trail of crumbs has come to an end
Both lost in the trail we made
I ask the trail -Will we find our way back?
It answers: I don't know.
The night is engulfed in darkness and the wind
Is drunk, losing it's head it threatens for blood
This is not the time to rock the seas or tempt fate
The storm is on us, tread carefully
As we wander, you blinded by pride, I by faith
Show yourself or let the seas engulf us
I ask the seas -Did we have to go through this?
It answers -I don't know.
On the trail unable to take one step towards each other
Have we taken a thousand steps away from each other?
The mountain again stood mighty in our path
I ask the trail-will we cross over?
It answers-I don't know.
After a tedious toil, you return holding my dreams
And seat your frail self on the trail
And eagerly look at me,
Holding you by the hand leading you on,
I answer-'Come! Mountain or no mountain,
If you think I can- I can'
Seema.J
1st-April-2012
poem by Seema joglekar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tis Breath, Then.... (Part Two)
tis breath, then...
(and still spirits dormant in the night,
leaf, stone, branch, river...
forgotten ants, snails, and crickets,
spiders with infinite webs.
the wolf's howl in waiting,
the owl perfectly still.
worms working silence,
the wings of small birds...
waiting, waiting, waiting...)
tis breath, then...
carrying the plague of war,
deep into the ignorance.
walls built of fear,
and the hunger that devours.
draining color, caged, and panting...
breath crying out for breath,
sorrow unto sorrow...
but tis breath, then...
that forming tongues of soul and spirit,
that falling like passion scented rain,
binds darkness unto darkness,
holding sound in echo's palm.
that rises to the fall,
and falls to the rising.
swallows distance with intimate longing...
calling forth stars and moonlight!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Willow, Willow, Willow
A poore soule sat sighing under a sicamore tree;
O willow, willow, willow!
With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee:
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.
He sigh'd in his singing, and after each grone,
Come willow, willow, willow!
Come willow, willow, willow!
'I am dead to all pleasure, my true-love is gone.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be may garland.
'My love she is turned; untrue she doth prove;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
She renders me nothing but hate for my love.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the grene willow, &c.
'O pitty me' (cried he), 'ye lovers each one;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Her heart's hard as marble; she rues not my mone.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.'
The cold streams ran by him, his eyes wept apace;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
The salt tears fell from him, which drowned his face.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
The mute birds sate by him, made tame by his mones;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
The salt tears fell from him, which softened the stones.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!
'Let nobody blame me, her scornes I do prove;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
She was borne to be faire; I, to die for her love.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
'O that beauty should harbour a heart that's so hard!
Sing willow, willow, willow!
Sing willow, willow, willow!
My true love rejecting without all regard.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
'Let love no more boast him in palace or bower;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
For women are trothles, and flote in an houre.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
'But what helps complaining? In vaine I complaine:
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
I must patiently suffer her scorne and disdaine.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
'Come, all you forsaken, and sit down by me,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
He that 'plaines of his false love, mine's falser than she.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
'The willow wreath weare I, since my love did fleet;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
A garland for lovers forsaken most meete.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!'
Part the Second
'Lowe lay'd by my sorrow, begot by disdaine,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Against her too cruell, still, still I complaine.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland!
'O love too injurious, to wound my poore heart,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
To suffer the triumph, and joy in my smart!
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
'O willow, willow, willow! the willow garland,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
A sign of her falsenesse before me doth stand.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.
'As here it doth bid to despair and to dye,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
So hang it, friends, ore me in grave where I lye.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
'In grave where I rest mee, hang this to the view,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Of all that doe knowe her, to blaze her untrue.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
'With these words engraven, as epitaph meet,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
'Here lyes one, drank poyson for potion most sweet.'
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
'Though she thus unkindly hath scorned my love,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
And carelessly smiles at the sorrowes I prove;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
'I cannot against her unkindly exclaim,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Cause once well I loved her, and honoured her name.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.
'The name of her sounded so sweete in mine eare,
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
It rays'd my heart lightly, the name of my deare;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
'As then 'twas my comfort, it now is my griefe;
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
It now brings me anguish; then brought me reliefe.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow, &c.
'Farewell, faire false-hearted, plaints end with my breath!
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Thou dost loath me, I love thee, though cause of my death.
O willow, willow, willow!
O willow, willow, willow!
Sing, O the greene willow shall be my garland.'
poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!