Thursday, September 10, 2009


Willow look at yourself.
When you were born no one could have forseen.
You would turn out more like a scrub pine.

So you are not majestic.
Tall and stunning with long blonde branches
Hanging over a slow moving creek.

You live as a lone tree,
An individual on a grand mountain side.
Providing a source of life to many.

Willow you soften reality.
Basking in God’s glory, you’re a pillow
A small humble respite of joy.

By Dave Schipper © 2009 Rose Riversongs

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