T h e  W i l l o w

by Tina Yim


She spent her days up on that hill,
where the willow stood on an ocean of green,
‘til the diamond blue sky dripped of red,
and the sun would set the willow ablaze.
Charred and black from the descending orb, it stood,
as she gazed from beneath its tattered curtain,
searching for that ever distant horizon,
until night cloaked the earth in its silent lucidity.


The days came and went without a whisper,
leaving behind brown fields,
and a willow, old and bare,
gnarled limbs clawing at the unreachable sky.
Her days spent forevermore, swinging from its branches,
watching that horizon, dancing with the restless wind.