I Know the Fruit of the Willow Tree

An older poem, written in 2015.

I know the fruit of the willow tree.

I know my true love’s heart.

For in the field where first we danced "

Her lilac dress, then rosy skin "

She whispered sweet to me and asked

If I would be her lover.

 

I know the fruit of the willow tree.

I know my true love’s heart.

The hearth she craved I offered her,

So that while summer smiled outside,

Upon my knee I gave the ring

To be more than her lover.

 

I know the fruit of the willow tree.

I know my true love’s heart.

She surely, while I ached and toiled

On autumn fields like lowly beast,

Dreamt in the town of richer ways,

Perhaps a richer lover.

 

I know the fruit of the willow tree.

I know my true love’s heart.

Cold ran the winter through our bed,

Yet still did she deny the truth.

Did men not greet her in the street

As if each were her lover?

 

I know the fruit of the willow tree.

I know my true love’s heart.

Moth-eaten is the lilac dress,

Too stiff the limbs to dance.

All white now lies the meadow dead,

Where once I was her lover.

 

Bitter the taste of your true love’s betrayal,

Sad as the soul of that tree.

Most vile when the red mist of doubt clouds the truth:

She was honest and kinder than me.

 

I know the fruit of the willow tree,

Where I buried my true love’s heart.