Willow tree with woodbine honeysuckle
by Roger Griffin
Signs of Spring
'Neath our last impatient days of spring, we wait for the sun. But yesterday I was
cheered by the beginnings of hanging green, hanging green on a weeping willow tree. It
cheered me all the way home. And the grass, too, held hope like open arms.
A neighbor used to have a weeping willow tree. To me it marked her yard. But then it
turned noisome with all the long branches lying about in needed of picking up. I forget
what else was wrong with the tree. But one day the tree was gone and a garden in it's place.
Weeping willows, (or weeping "willahs" as they're pronounced in the South), have captivated me. Enough to push me to write:
Prayer of the Weeping Willow
A weeping willow is grand
because it has wept
where it stands,
turning experiential sorrow
into a seasoned grace;
Lord, bless this moistened face,
for these bows of grace
simply bend to honor Thee.
I do know of people who have turned sorrow into grace. They become your mentors.
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