My Weeping Willow

​Each night I take a moment to adore my precious weeping willow. 

That teardrop on her right cheek, speak of the sacrifice her lover made.  

The scars on the left, are from a battle she fought with him. 

Her lips moving in constant murmur, speaking of the tragedy they couldn’t evade. 

Somedays, she’s too weak to face me so she hides behind her ravenous veil. 

The other days, she peeps through it a little,  curious to know if I too dread in such miserable days. 

But today’s she’s in her utmost ferocity, calling out to the heavens and their heinous ways. 

Raging at the injustice that she and her lover had to face. 

With his ancient wit, he though found a middle way.

Yet could not win over the solitude that dictates their melancholic days.

Though they see only her beauty and his ferocious blaze. 

I see the scarred goddess and injured warrior, trapped forever in their lonesome cage. 

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