The Making Of Sir Willow

Bruce Marlin

♪ ♫ ♪

Stealing a glance under my branch,
I spied a green-eyed lady,
as if, by Chance, or Fate’s romance,
she found me cool and shady.

I heard her sigh for times gone by,
her breath grew slow and steady.
I knew not why, but in her cry,
old tears stood at the ready.

Releasing all, the rain did fall
on ruddy roots and timber.
Like thunder calls that break down walls;
like leaves turn in September.

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