When the wind runs through the willows

Warming seeps o’er snow pond water

Its icey blue succumbs to yellow, and to germinating green

All sunbeam bright, and bold with promise.

Life resurgent, spills redundant

Pollen coasts the sifting breeze

Past speckled eggs in grassy baskets

And robins coupling skyward while they rise.

When the wind runs through the willows

I remember her in her springtime

Green as English ivy, smooth ivory fingers warm

I still taste her pink, and breathe her colors in.

The rose of a wild garden, fire berry shaded hair

Eyes cirrus set, and flashing satin sapphire

Her locket hides my likeness where

She holds me every midnight, and I listen to her heart.

When the wind runs through the willows

I remember her first summers when

She opened to the fevered sun and bloomed

The sweet petals of her flowers.

She danced before those zephered rhythms

Her points rising with her spirits

As her hips pled for my directions

Her band played to my baton.

The wind still echoes of spring willows

Though it croons an autumn song,

And I still keep her in my garden

Though her seductive scent is gone.

There she stores the samba of her seasons

There she guards her golden locket

Spilling dew from honeyed sapphire,

From her souvenier of willows.