She stretches her many old limbs
Out towards the edges of her home
The sad song of the wind gently moves her leaves out of his way
The rustling of her leaves a low quiet drum
Pounding the old natives beats
Her trunk creaked with pain
The pain of ages

Old memories flood back like a tsunami
Hitting a village
Memories of fresh clean air
Natives huddled like sheep
By her back
Speaking prayers in a lost language
Memories of children running and screaming as the wolves shaped like men invaded the village
Taking life away with it
Memories of loneliness
Of wishing for the natives to return

Now
The dirty air that blows from the south
A distant sound of chainsaws
Of hikers
Of her favorite noise
Children’s laughter as they
Enjoy the outdoors like her family once did

She wonders if her family survives
In a faraway place
She wonders if others have
Lost something
Something torn away in seconds
Unable to be stopped
Do others live this long
To have these thoughts?

A child of young
Spies her last token
Memories of her run
Her scream
Than her necklace
Caught on one of her branches
Than the girls dead silence

The child picks it off the ground
Placing on a branch
Like a mother caring for her kitten

The child comes again
Brining joy with her
But the child is growing up

She is old the willow
She has had a life full of joy and sorrow
She weeps
She is the weeping willow
Her time has arrived
Her time to have her life taken
Away
She leaves us
Her memory finally at rest
She slowly lets her life fly away
The man wolves of her nightmares
Have finally come for her