Weeping willow,
hide me beneath your boughs,
drooping forlorn and melancholic,
like a veil for a bride,
whether at the altar or on the pyre;
enwrap me within your cool shade,
shelter me from the heat,
keep me from the Retribution,
though apology I must give;
teach me all your ways,
how to bend and flow with shifting
currents even in the greatest storm,
and how to stand strong;
Weeping willow,
I am inflexible and stiff—
how I despise changing—
how can I become like you,
flowing, flexible, wholesome;
how can I overcome my fears—
teach me to be fearless,
welcoming the storm without
hesitation because I know that
when the storm wall hits
I will remain standing, strong,
beyond all doubt, awaiting
the calm at the center of the storms;
Weeping willow,
can you answer the questions
boring through my brain,
searing holes into my skull,
for I am unworthy of the blessings
He pours out, and I cannot
stand under His unending grace;
I wish I was better than I am,
but wretched still, I am—
amazing grace how sweet the sound,
that would save a wretch like me—
but I am changing and growing and
learning—when will I finish?
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