BY THE WELL
THE WILLOW WEEPS
There weeps a willow
by a spring of tears,
its branches bend back
to those chaste years
when both our wants
and our young needs
were yet as pure
as the swans in the reeds.
You had loved me
and I had loved you,
your skin was lily-white
and your eyes kingfisher blue.
But now turns yellow
the land that lies,
and gone the sparkle
in your far-away eyes.
Yes gone the sparkle
with our wants and needs
which squat like toads
in the wild reeds,
and there, over there,
the oil from a drum
snakes up and down
as did once your and my tongue.
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