The Weeping Willow
My dear I look at you, the Weeping Willow;
An aging deity of beauty
Whose tears weep not joy,
Whose tears weep not hate,
But only reminisce in pain.
My dear I look at you, the hero of the
Dawn; splendour creature who’s greying
Besieged but all the remainder of colours;
A spectacle, a speck, a rough patch of Youth;
Only reminisce in pain.
My dear I fall for you;
Whose eyes shimmer brightly
Like the crazy diamond, transforming
In the dark surroundings into opal;
Not that light, that horrid light which
Promises nothing; only reminisce in pain.
My weeping willow,
Don’t you know that pain is red?
That the apple is life? Or the pomegranate,
That awful, awful fruit is Death?
That is what we are my dear:
The weepy willows; the weepy aged.
We only reminisce in pain,
Nothing else, nothing less.



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