Mother Willow

You are the gentle willow, who I often 
thought looked weak. Your strong-willed 
child that made her loud debut among 
your branches, hanging 

in the adolescent wind, has grown. 
Your leaves have turned a softer lemon-green. 
Sparrows gather on your quiet sleeves 
to nest. It’s peaceful in your presence. 

Once, I could not see the fine lacework of shadows
that you cast. Your bark is deep with lines, 
and catkin clusters free themselves 
to float across the twilight’s dark divide 

where little drowsy seeds prevail 
along the moonlit trails.