Oh, weeping willow

  Tell us your story.

  With roots like blood that seep deep inside our creek,

  With a trunk weaved from the people whose dreams have been reaped.

  With leaves of spun silver, emeralds, and gold,

  What misery could you bestow, a tragic fate that unfolds?

  Oh, weeping child,

  So many stories to be told.

  With those who wish to be great, such bold shining stars.

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  While this little universe of ours is brimming with hope, love, and potential,

  It is blighted with dictators, envy, czars, and branches of evil.

  Our fates are woven like this truck you see today,

  Worn with the nostalgia, sadness, and melancholy that keeps us at bay.

  Oh, weeping willow,

  I've come here to say,

  This little world of ours is mourning you to this very day.

  Your branches, silver.

  Your leaves, emeralds.

  The sky, sapphire, that has now engulfed you whole.

  You have lived to see tragedies, outbursts, and miracles.

  You have lived to see war, disease, and criminals.

  I'm sorry to hear that you have seen more tragedies than hope.

  I'm sorry to hear that you have witnessed the death of the pope.

  I'm sorry to hear that you have seen the winds riot.

  I'm sorry to hear that your body is too small for your knowledge that is Goliath.

  However, I'm most sorry to say that you are wrong about the world.

  For there are families that steal to survive.

  For even the most pure can be bribed.

  For there is more evil in kindness than kindness in evil,

  It does not mean that we shall forfeit our seeking.

  So, I, the weeping child, will be as stubborn as a bull.

  For the glass is not half empty but half full.