By Jane L. Fitzpatrick (September 28, 1981)

Oh willow, willow weeping there,
Bending your head to cry,
The wind can sweep your branches,
But none can reach to the sky.

Oh, why, my willow are you sad?
Why do you face the ground?
You miss the clouds, the birds that pass,
You miss the moon so round.

Willow let me show you,
That smiles come from above,
Don’t weep and sweep your branches,
But wave them to the doves.

Oh, by and by, you will try…