THE WILLOW PASS
A straitening of subtle reflexes
lays the sun upon her eyes
spiralling centre circles she
traces with her fingers and toes.
So high, so mighty she sits so small
cross-legged as if she had it all.
Her head held in a loving way
while wandering I witness her as if
she were a prayer and cannot
look away.
Now the willow tree lifts her up
like fresh dew
she is a child made new.
Yes the Willow Tree lifts her up
So gladly and the wanderers, them
and you,
pass beneath the willow tree
unable not to stare at someone so, so
rare.
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