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elegy of the 0ak and the Willow

The wretched wind that rocks my bough curtails the warmth I feel for thee. Truly the love of such a flower can mend with ease this broken tree? That same win howls and blows away the growing seed of love I bear, my leaves they fall, my branches sway, my bark disguises my despair.
The snow around my stagnant roots encases coldly so to freeze, this withered soul the lark refutes, like me they crave the summer breeze. Oh willow there before my eyes, your love elusive art this time, may Spring abound with sweet surprise and seal your empty heart to mine?
The blessed sun within my prayer still grins behind that fearsome cloud, and when in dreams I see it there, I stand before you tall and proud. Upon this plane of thought and mind, there walks a flower wild and free. And here I wander close behind, in prayer that she'll remember me.
So long ago sweet lonely flower, when I, like you was but a seed, passions scaled the tallest tower, and then we grew soon to be freed.
And later, ah! We found desire, discovered beauty and the sun. We honed and nursed imprisoned fires, not knowing quite what had begun. The winter in its frozen might withdrew you from my ailing sight, the lonely dreary empty hours, so bland to birds and beats and flowers.
I pondered long in solitude on what I knew was God's desire, the memories on which I brood, defy the devil's funeral pyre. And so the Spring enhanced my flee from lonely druid to lively force, I cried with happiness to see the willow there within my course.
And now that howling wind that blew, will cower as cowards will, the Summer came and flowers grew
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Submitted by p g webster on May 26, 2015

1:30 min read

p g webster

P G Webster is a poet and songwriter from the Pennine Moors close to the home of the Bronte sisters of Haworth in West Yorkshire. Midgley, the small hamlet like village where he spent his initial 10 years is the subject matter of some of the poet's writings, along with Hebden Bridge and the moorland surrounding Halifax and Calderdale. P G Webster's most noted inspiration is not his favourite poet - William Blake - nor his lifelong obsession with the Brontes, but infact, the very ground he trod around his home surroundings. He has a profound passion for nature and philanthropic matters. The work of this unknown bard is special, and expressive and very, very impressive. Read, and digest these pieces and marvel at their originality, while recognizing the obvious echoes and style of Blake. more…

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