What the Willow Tree shows

Let me tell of children who are no longer listening

To wings of fairies, they are torn

Imagination bent like a willow tree twisting,

Whilst failing to regain its form

Our ancestral lines past can be traced back to battles

Our family trees blossomed in war

Forced into anguish generations ago, as the weeping of willow trees show

Let me tell of grown men who are no longer sighted

Throwing their toy world to the ground

With dynamism force of a heathen that’s smited

The child’s choice – rebuild or compound

Their anger as hatred, their innocence sedated

Their hope pools like mud on the floor

Forced into anguish generations ago, as the weeping of willow trees show

Let me tell of roses that had had all their thorns stripped

Then wrapped up in rusty barbed wire

They were placed in the mouth of a dove with its wings clipped

In turn cast out over the mire

When even deaf blind men can perceive what’s before them

And hear the screams of our dear world

Remembering the peace of a world we can’t know, before seeds of the tree had been sewed.

I’ll tell you of concepts that they wrapped in red leather

Then cast to the funeral pyre

With a quote in the cover ‘our will you can’t tether’

Until it’s engulfed by the fire

But flames of our passion, of our fear of destruction

Are quelled by the passage of time

Soon it will be new compassion we know, as the growth of the willow trees show