The willow wandered, drifting on the stream.
A bough, torn from the trunk and tossed away;
By tempest cast at bridge and dam and beam.
Small wonder that it sought a place to stay.
A stretch of slowing water, green and still,
With rocks enough to grasp ’til roots could grow.
Clean air, clear light — of each enough to fill
All worldly need a willow tree could know.
In time, a track; and then, a gravel road;
The prints of feet too fast for trees to see;
An axe, too swift to feel. Young seeds, un-sowed.
Then flame and ash, to set the water free.
The trees, too bold to learn the land they took,
Had boldly, blindly, grown to choke the brook.
Jenkins Rising 
3 responses to “Willows”
By what or whom was this poem inspired?
I used to walk past a pond shaded with willows — and one day I walked past and the willows had been cut down.
I understand they’re an invasive species and everything, but it’s still sad to see them taken away like that.
[…] willows are old,Many-trunked, and hollow:Habitat for […]