The Discrimination of Willows

Forests with no bounds, stretching out and engulfing the world in a sea of green.

Oaks, birch, pine, sequoia, cedar, ash, their roots reaching out to feel.

To feel the centre, the centre of the forest, the world.

At that centre sits a lone willow, surrounded by strangers,

The lone willow, graceful branches dipping down, an umbrella of green.

Tears flowing down, shaping the curve of the branches,

Hiding the sorrow behind a curtain of beauty.

Other trees, watching in jealousy, yet distanced.

To them, the lone willow was alien,

Yet the willow could not, could not speak without lifting the veil,

The veil that hid its very self.

The veil that hid the world from the willow,

And the willow from the world.

How could one, blind to the world know, its own kind was vanishing?

The world shunning it to the title of a pest, a weed,

Yet the tree itself, helping the many creatures that traipsed through the woods.

So, the day poison slipped through the roots of the willow,

Death came early to an innocent being.

For the scythe of death to fall, quenching a light,

Humans bringing demise to such a misjudged soul.