Saw you through the shadows of the Willow tree,
under its’ blanket of long teardrop branches.
Upon the ground, a spray of roses, there did lay,
Heart shaped, smelling so dew-fresh and sweet.
Saw your head bow itself to your knees,
eyes fixed on the virgin sod and granite,
stilled breeze flecks upon verdant blade-
your strained Heart robed in deepest sorrow.
Did you see who placed them here?
Was it you who placed them here?
And if not, no need to weep;
You are here, and that’s all that matters.
I often come here too for peace and comfort,
I have seen, heard and walked with the shadows,
and that feeling, when the Willows catch the breeze,
and you hope there be a messagelose cbehind it –
one to silence your doubts and spiritual sadness.
There are many stones here, too, that bear my name,
taken from me by the strange mystery of Death.
Yes, I’ve leaned against a many Willow tree,
and watched a many sundown cast it’s dank shadows
o’er crosses and arches of the eversleeping.
So, take my hand, and walk along with me,
let the the shadows and the breeze speak their peace,
for behind each one be a million memories,
great stories, and journeys
of a renaissance forever.
There be comfort here, it’s yours, to hold snd keep;
There be comfort here, grieve not and just believe;
There be comfort here, always ‘neath the Willow tree.