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The Willow(M.P.Bridger)In the crown of the Weeping Willow I would sit, my face blasted by the wind And feel its sinewed boughs sway beneath me. As a small boy I was daunted by that tree, Hoping that one day I would grow big enough to climb it. I felt like a King when I finally did And soon I could climb like a monkey. When I needed solitude, When I needed to escape my parent's wrath Or the Teacher's wit or-God forbid, Nurse a broken heart I would climb high into the crown of that tree.. My tree. There I would survey the fields and houses at my feet And hug the nearest bough,my head resting against it, My eyes squeezed shut. To hide from the world In that bouncing canopy of windswept tentacles, To listen to the roaring gale, My face set against the elements... Only then was I truly free. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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