A beautiful little red bird,
Perched at the knot of the Willow
A tale, many spells ago.
Green meadows, waters ran cerulean
Her plumage, gloriously shone scarlet and rust,
pride of the vast Willow.
When came clouds with thunder,
She feasted on the sweet morning’s dew.
Nighttime, the Willow, her haven.
She fared faraway lands too.
On return she; the Willow stood leafless,
searched the tree for warmth.
Gingerly, she touched down upon,
the frozen branch, of her faithful guardian.
Kindled with her heart’s flames.
She broke into a cry,
The song of her ancestors, and her’s,
from another time, another place.
Pristine snow around the tree,
bore ashes, red and rust turned grey.
Night heard Willow’s silent cry.
Come day, the frost melted.
The willow donned an armour of green.
Scarlet wings rose from grey.