A willow stands upon this land,
an antiquated tree.
How old you ask – I cannot say,
but older than are we.
I met this tree when I was young
a boy of maybe three.
And even then it was beyond
a score or more than me.
Now, many of years have come to pass
and all have gone but me;
the willow stands to mark the past,
this wonderful, venerable tree!
I’ve come to pay my last respect,
I’ve come to say good-bye;
when gone, suspect some further neglect,
So strange, it seems I do detect
this willow tree, it cries!
©Marvin Loyd Welborn 2011