A little willowy white
Spring flowers hearing the haunting cry
As they lie awake in the dark night
While seeing tears as they fly
Underneath the weeping tree
Many a place of flickering light
Barely able to hold the dying free
They've lost now slowing down sight
Sitting in a suspended white
The cold wind stopping the cry
Adorned in the wait of night
And startled feathers, distressed all fly
Draped with hands around the bare tree
A fiery red grief of burned out light
With their misery ended and finally free
Now long lost laughter close in sight
