In Willow’s gaze, the dawn is dusk,
The night is set ablaze;
And every living mystery
Is carried on her lips.
Her being stills revolving skies;
Her beauty breaks my heart.
Her light ashames the lustrous moon
And glistens o’er the dark.
My Willow’s eyes are elements,
Both infinite and rare;
Of matter hewn, ambrosial,
Bejew’lled with em’rald light.
My Willow’s touch is liberty:
Demise and life anew;
The glory of awakening,
The end of all before.
Serene aloft the tainted ground
On streams of amber air;
The earth itself recedes, unfit –
To press upon her feet.
Her sacred words are tapestries,
That weave amid her voice.
In Willow’s wake, her rapture glows
Like fireflies in June.