Willow

And so these winter willows crowd the banks
As if to say "We are the day, we are the way,"
Filling in the space here, where the water wanders,
With living room for all, where life is wanted,
Not discarded,
Not overlooked.

I remember a story about a Toad
Who left his Hall and hit the road...

No, that is in the life of men,
Like gods they build and rend and shred the fen,
And bury life in death,
To make room for another pig-pen,
As it struggles here for one last breath,
And oil oozes in rainbow sheen,
And witchlights burn at night.

Merrily, merrily, oh, very merry,
Our lives are but a dreamland
We cannot quite awaken from,
Because, in truth, we think we see,
And march to military drums...
And all life's little beauties flee.

And in the end, these faery fen willows
Will still quiver, crowding banks,
And waterwhirls will still swirl this way,
And no one will remember,
No one will remember
Any of these days.


--J. Shidler, 2012-02-13,14