The willows gone to sleep now
where the bunnies left the burrows,
Five and twenty years’ after
the awaken sun singing the
lights…
the lights knitting the scars
of the decaying past.
Last long night too she had the
same taught,
in which the gold branch of the cruel willow
slowly swallowing her in,
when soon it fell flat down asleep,
by unimagined power still she thinks…
Sighs of hopeless…
Ah! A twist of a tale!
Thus, out through the Birmingham,
the golden curse!
✍️Rwrites