Poetry: Blossoming River

Willow Tree

It was on that distant seashore,

With a heart so young and full,

The crashing waves sung me their 'lore;

Such a mesmerizing push and pull.

They sang of a young bride to be,

And the young lad who held her love;

Joyous and merry was she,

As though angels shouted praises from above.

Their tones grew dark,

Shudders crawled up my spine,

As they told of the tragedy that would soon embark,

The threads of life became untwined.

"Fate," they wailed, crashing against every serrated rock,

"How cruel you can be."

They sang of the maiden waiting tirelessly at the dock,

Though she knew she lost him to the sea.

They sang of the young widow,

And the young lad who did not return;

Wistful and stoic, much like the willow

Mourning did not protect from death's burn.

The widow returned to the dock and sea,

Tears and rain stained her face,

Calling, "Oh, mighty one bring my love back to me,"

Plunging into the rocks, she left this place.

It was on that distant seashore,

The willow trees entwined beneath their canopy,

The crashing waves sung me their 'lore;

Knowing two souls were free.