Weeping Willow

The willow, an elegy etched in bark,

drapes its hair in heavy strands of rain.

Each teardrop leaf whispers a name,

a chorus of loss echoing through the lane.

Limbs, once reaching for the sun,

now slump, burdened by memories undone.

Roots, tangled tight in a sorrowful embrace,

grip the earth where laughter used to trace

a path of sunlight. The wind, a mournful sigh,

rustles secrets the willow cannot deny.

Aching silence hangs heavy in the air,

a monument to what used to be there.

But wait, a single bud, defiant and bright,

pushes through the curtain of mourning night.

A flicker of hope, a promise yet untold,

that even in sorrow, life can unfold.