The reeds and willows in the boggy marsh bent with the wind, their whistling sound haunting all those within the range to hear it.
“It’s getting dark, Anders,” Clarissa whispered. He knew she was scared. Grabbing his hand and entwining her fingers in his, he took to oppotunity to lock eyes with her
Kajsa
There is something about sitting under a willow that isolates you, cleanly, from the rest of the word, like a scapel seperating meat from fat. Here, she is no one; the tree leans over her, leaves swaying, protecting her from all overhead.
Unfortunately, her problems almost never came from overhead, but she appreciated the sentiment all the same. She wished she could be a protector one day, even if everyone always told her that Willow, her name, meant weak and flimsy–useless.
She would show them strength, she picked up the branch next to her.
we lay
under the willow tree,
watching clouds
go from cat
to god.
spring
is finally here,
we’ve been
calling for her
all winter long.
she’s painted
the park pink,
and put a feather
under my nose.
she brought
back sunlight
and the
lukewarm breeze
and restored
the yellow
in our souls.
I dont know what is willow. Sorry. Help me JesusChrist
Carolina
the willow tree stood alone. its branches swayed and sighed in the wind. the tree wept. for itself, for its world, for the life it would never know. everything was about to change, and there was no stopping the darkness that lay ahead.
The reeds and willows in the boggy marsh bent with the wind, their whistling sound haunting all those within the range to hear it.
“It’s getting dark, Anders,” Clarissa whispered. He knew she was scared. Grabbing his hand and entwining her fingers in his, he took to oppotunity to lock eyes with her
There is something about sitting under a willow that isolates you, cleanly, from the rest of the word, like a scapel seperating meat from fat. Here, she is no one; the tree leans over her, leaves swaying, protecting her from all overhead.
Unfortunately, her problems almost never came from overhead, but she appreciated the sentiment all the same. She wished she could be a protector one day, even if everyone always told her that Willow, her name, meant weak and flimsy–useless.
She would show them strength, she picked up the branch next to her.
we lay
under the willow tree,
watching clouds
go from cat
to god.
spring
is finally here,
we’ve been
calling for her
all winter long.
she’s painted
the park pink,
and put a feather
under my nose.
she brought
back sunlight
and the
lukewarm breeze
and restored
the yellow
in our souls.
The willow tree waves with the breeze.
Is it a wave of hello, or a wave of good-bye?
The leaves are lightly touching the water.
Is it a first touch of welcoming, or a last touch of salutation?
I do not really know anymore.
I dont know what is willow. Sorry. Help me JesusChrist
the willow tree stood alone. its branches swayed and sighed in the wind. the tree wept. for itself, for its world, for the life it would never know. everything was about to change, and there was no stopping the darkness that lay ahead.