Do old trees cry
when widowed wives
finally leave?
Do they shiver
in their trunks and quake
in their leaves?
Do old trees cry
when old lovers
touch lips?
Do tears of sticky sap
roll down their bark
from their tips?
I swear I’ve seen an old tree
smile in the sun
and under the moonlight, sing.
Cracked in the middle, down the bark,
Broken-hearted, I swear I’ve seen
a tree dancing in the rolling wind.
I’m a weeping willow,
Rooted in my tears,
Watching life go by.
I would **** for wings,
but I wouldn’t have the courage,
to actually fly.