Willow, my willow

I've always been very fond of this swinging lady of nature!

Willow, my willow, why doth thy so weep?
fret not teary one, in whispered silence
chance be it thy precious leaves doth wither

Mine journeys be many to the river
to rest 'pon green banks where thou resides
seeketh comfort of thy cool, dampen shade
from heat of sun and perfidious heart of man

There fancies of mine danced behind closed lids
sought me, sturdy anch'rage from tempest life,
thy hath assisted me with song bird's beauty
to ease my pen into delightful musing

Should the fanning of thy dancing limbs still,
and not wave o'er me ? Never may that be!
what? and lose the sweet song of the robin?
never denounce thy value, stormy maiden!

Alas, but winter's been wretched to thee
stripping my beloved of cherished adornment
thy dress of sage in color and silk in touch
Fret not, my willow, for spring hath hastened
to bringeth new adornments fit for yon lady fair!

Reviews

[Willow]

Lol I like this poem. It's beautifully written, and I was automatically interested because my name is Willow for real, well my pen name is too but whatever. Excellent uses of metaphors here. I can picture your setting perfectly: the green banks, dampened shade... lovely.