Author's Note: for some reason, Fictionpress has decided to be unkind to me once again, and the spacing is entirely off. Consider each three lines as a verse, and give the spacing its due.

Once, there was a tree;

Tall and bright, calm and strange;

Pretty branches slowly reaching for the sun...

People used to listen

To the wind, through the leaves

As it sang a song of perfect darkness, none.

Thriving in its youth;

Full of life, full of light;

Fragile bark still green and red of every shade...

Leaves were lifted up,

Rising on, t'ward the sun;

T'ward its source of life and love that it had made.

Wind began to scream;

People deaf, clouds enshroud,

Perfect brilliance of the sun and tree depart...

The Earth was naught but white,

Leaves did fall, branches hang,

Bitter cold and cruel ice did break its bark.

Now, there was a tree;

Weak and cold, fierce and grey;

Naked branches hanging weary, close to ground...

Soaking drops of water

From the ground, as it died;

Branches fall, a heavy sigh, a morbid sound...

...A tragic sound.

Many months did pass,

Cold and dry, sore and dead;

It was abandoned by its people and the sun...

Before you get distressed,

Then came spring, flowers bloom;

Joyful greens replaced the white of winter, done.

Still our tree lay cold,

'Side the moss, and the blooms,

With the rains of spring, the sun did hide again...

Then, when summer came,

Clouds depart, sunlight shone,

And the magic tree's long death began to end.

Grey bark regained its shine,

People came, listened now,

A song so quiet, you could hear it only close...

Leaves began to green,

Blossoms shine, branches raise;

The sunlight bonding with the one it loved the most...

...The Willow Ghost.