Old Weeping Willow

I can still see it clearly as if it was yesterday
The old weeping willow, it would bend and sway
Its silver leaves glistening in the hot noon-day sun
While under its arches laughing children had fun
Soft breezes taunting its willowy limbs
While fair, feathered friends would gather to sing
Robins and sparrows, the lone mourning dove
Orioles and blue-jays would gather above

The drone of the locust still tuning the days
Of July and August and September’s blue haze
And, oh the joy of the old rope swing
As mother’s darlings would daringly cling
Up, up and away in those shadowy arches
It didn’t matter how stiff Mother starched us
Our cotton frocks blew but we didn’t care
Small price for this freedom way up in the air

Now they have taken the willow away
Gone are the shadows of feather and fray
Gone is the swing and its children too
Gone are the days ‘neath its golden hue
Sometimes I sigh and silently yearn
Wishing that I could magically return
To the old rope swing and the hours so free
Spent beneath the old willow tree

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin

Willow trees and trains.....
two things that are linked to
precious childhood memories.