I trail my branches with a desolate sigh,
my leaves are dreary and wanton of love.
All my long lost joy has faded nigh,
upon the black wings of the desolate raven.
I weep my tears into the lake below,
salt becoming pure with crystal water.
To the breeze I sway mournful and slow,
sighing to the lyrics of a wistful ballad.
Loneliness chills me like winter's harsh embrace,
I possess no warmth to fuel my heart.
I look up at the moon's nostalgic face
and for me there is never a sun.
My boughs droop with such grief,
weighed down by loneliness and fear.
Life is dark. Death is the true relief
which comes when our song is sung.
My friends have long flown,
my embers have waned and died.
Over the years my agony has grown.
So is sung the lonely lament of the willow.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry and Lamentations
PoetrySome poems about nature and serene landscapes. I would call it an anthology. However, some poems are Lamentations so therefore, may be quite despairing and upsetting.
