Willow Tree

Willow Tree short poem

Photo by dfuster74

The years in front are
Now shorter than the
Ones behind. I lay awake
At night, wondering how

It will end. It will be sudden,
Or not sudden, obviously.
A long decline into madness?
That’ll do me. Loss of hair,
Of muscle. Of mind. I will

Try to add length to such a thing.
Give up the smoke. Eat brown rice
And lilly-pads, run twice a day.
And will I die alone, holding

A bedpost rather than a loved
One’s hand? I cannot get to grips
Or understand. So I don’t,
But I still think about it sometimes.

Maybe I can come back as a lamppost.
Watch the crazy world go by,
Kicking dogs when they piss on me,
Or a duck, swimming in a village

Pond, eating a child’s bread. Or the
Willow tree, refreshing my luminous
Green foliage, to be reborn each
Year. Yeah, I’d like that.

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