Sullen times I would rush to the old willows side
her soft Bowers of sweet reverie
lone and unbeknownst to the folks that harried by
an empire of emerald mine...
Within she so elusive to blight and lights...
The crystal nights would pour down her shimmering boughs
This valley of serene quietude
Right beside where the engine sparked
Beside the lives of office dens
Aside the avarice the malice of men
where the soulful thrush and I would rush
My abode of mindless melancholy
An alibi ,an escape
the old willows tree ...