Long, the willow wanderer
By the day and through the night.
He's searching for the wind
To be bendable and light.
He grows long arms with feathery leaves
And his trunk, a gnarled face.
Despite the roads he's taken
He will find his windy place.
First, he took to pussywillows
They taught him how to bend and sway
But this was not his wind
And so he uprooted and went away.
He hunkered down beneath a mighty oak
Who asked him why did he cry?
He answered through his shaking leaves,
"I want my leaves to windy, fly!
For is that not what a tree is made for?
Survival for it's own sake?"
The oak tree lowered his great arm,
"You must learn to give if you want to tale"
"But what can I give I have no wind?"
"Ah, but a tree can only do it's best!
Look inside my branches. I am
Home to squirrel holes and bird's nests.
But you are young, little willow!
You have much to learn. Grow
Strong and proud and ruddy.
There are many things you've yet to know"
So the willow settled in a field
Where he knows will come the wind
And he can gather knowledge and though he is still
His journey's just begun.