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Willow

If I were a tree
I would want to be a willow
With delicate leaves
That flutter gracefully
In the breeze
And trailing branches
That cascade down
To touch the earth
Its limbs swaying softly
Back and forth
Across the ground
Like a willowy ballerina
Whose gestures
Choreograph the sorrow
Of a bittersweet story
For the willow is a tree
That weeps for the ghosts
Buried underneath
In the rich black loam
Of death and decay
Where every living thing
Ends up some day
Life transformed
Enriching the soil below
Where newborn seedlings
Are emerging welcomed
Into the willow’s embrace
And dappled shade
Like Mother Nature herself
Personified
And, if I were a flower
I would want to be
A multicoloured rose
A deliciously fragrant
And resilient variety
That perfumes
The entire garden
With the scent
Of love and romance
And, preferably a climber
Whose vines will scale
The garden walls
Reaching ever higher
Towards the sky
And into my dreams
Or, maybe I could be
One of those tiny blue
Forget-me-nots
So as to keep
My memory alive
For the gardener
I had so loved
But, please
If I must be a weed
Let it be a dandelion
So, I can burst into gold
Every spring
And leave my telltale stains
Upon his trousers
Before scattering myself
Everywhere
Like fairy dust, or wishes
Blowing in the wind
Though mostly, I hope
When I am gone
I have done some good
And have loved enough
To be remembered
From time to time
By those I’ve known
As someone uniquely beautiful
Albeit, imperfect
Whose memory will live on
Leaving an impression on them
Like a whisper
Or a song
Or a spectacular flower
That had blossomed
In its short time
Gone
But not forgotten