The Willow

This morning, in the willow, soaking wet
and wilting under a blanket of snow,
I disappear in branches…  bent double
with winter’s late night visit, my sap slows
and new buds shiver – I’m left wondering
will I survive the cold? am I that strong?

In all her wisdom, mother kisses me
with strands of sunshine, filtered through high clouds;
they taunt her with flurries before she wins
and melts me back into tentative green.
In our heart, both the willow and I stretch;
we reach skyward to feel the sun, the warmth.

Under the faded blue and scattered white,
I turn to watch the end of one more day.

© Siobhan