Tuesday
the willow whistle
He sat cross legged under a tree
in a wood
In one hand a piece of willow, in the other
a shiny pocket knife.
He chipped, and smoothed and whittled
until he was sure
that his little wooden whistle was perfect
As perfect as could be.
It was to be a token of his love
for a fair maiden
A reminder of his promise to always be there
whenever she called.
But life can be cruel and one day
he wasn’t there.
Years later a girl walked through the wood
searching for the place
where one passion filled summers day
she lost her willow whistle
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If the willows could but whisper
They'd tell you a wonderful tale
Of a girl who became a woman
The boy the winds of change
Of passion as they united
Knowing that moment was all they had
Fringed with knowledge of tommorrow
Today would be all that they shared
Of how they parted in grief so strong
That the leaves withered and died
And their footsteps crunched their spirits out
As they parted through the miles
Hush! hear the willows talk
Of those lonely days in between
When the woman came to seek her man
Under the same old willow tree
I come here everyday and night
The willows talk to me
They tell me tales of that summery night
When a woman became of me
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