There was a time when the wind touched this spirit.
Now the breeze is so soft I can barely feel it.
Willow bent low to the ground.
Head downcast and low, earth bound.
Twist as I might I can’t fight loose.
My feet are solid in the clay.
It’s no use.
I just can’t move.
I guess I’m here to stay.
Let those roots shoot out to steady me.
At least my branches still sway.