just before dawn, when the air is still,
i rise to peer over the windowsill.
the mist hangs heavy upon the lake,
willows weeping in its wake.
last night’s storm has tilled the earth
and I am restless in its birth
to see once more
weeping willows, sweeping showers.
the stepping stones are slick with dew;
a mourning dove calls out her coo
about a love, lost and true,
who would not know what the raven knew
and nevermore will feel
weeping willows, sweeping showers.
thunder rumbles, rain sweeps in
washing away what might have been.
puddles fill and ripples spread
to shores untouched and tears unshed
forever seeking
weeping willows, sweeping showers.
the smell of rain, the bird’s new song;
tomorrow I’ll wake just before dawn,
walk over the stones, down to the lake
to make my peace and take my take
awaiting the next
weeping willows, sweeping showers.
Carolyn Fridman
StigMama 