Beneath a weeping willow

Beneath a weeping willow,
Beside a shallow pond,
A stone becomes a pillow,
A quill, a magic wand.

Two children lie there, dreaming,
Below the leafy tree,
At peace, with faces beaming,
Hearts: wild, young, and free.

Their heads are close together,
They lounge against the rock,
Their fingers stroke a feather,
And in a whisper, talk.

They listen to the fountain,
That makes the sunlight flash.
And see reflected mountains,
That ripple with each splash.

He leans up on an elbow,
She casts a silent spell.
Yet they know it’s time to go:
Called in by dinner’s bell.

– Wills Osborn (5/24/22)

Today, I became inspired to write a poem. I decided to look through the photos on my phone with the goal of finding one that I could write a poem about. I found a photo that I had taken of a tree near a pond and began writing. (The photo of the weeping willow is not the photo that gave me inspiration for this poem, yet I think the poem pairs better with this one than the original.) The poem above is the result. I hope you enjoy it.

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