Beneath the gentle heavens it stands,
A sentinel of sorrow, reaching its hands,
To the depths of the earth and the calling of the breeze,
A weeping willow, swaying with ease.

Its branches, like cascading tears, softly weep,
Whispering secrets it safely keeps,
In the rustle of leaves, a language unknown,
Speaking of heartache, a world overgrown.

Its roots delve deep, embedded in pain,
Absorbing the weight of loss and disdain,
Yet still it...