Willows

I heard the willows moan...
this heart is not our own.
Love came on wind one starry night,
and by the twinkle of their light.
It stole this heart away,
before the break of day.
Our efforts were a futile try,
for in its might we shan’t deny,
a pebble to a tower...
unbridled was its power.
So now in every whisper sigh,
the echoes of our longing cry.
We beckon to the moon...
that love will come back soon.

Deo Volente
April 22, 2009