Sleeping willow,
calm and at rest,
thinking of all things
yet of nothing at all.

Roots sucking the water,
like veins filled with blood,
feeding and nourishing
the body and soul.

Yearning for meaning
through the world's perils,
researching reasons
why it lays at rest.

Limited by binding
that secures its holding,
grounded from the reality
of the world born of
both hatred and love.

Quite still does this willow think,
and unanswered does its questions
bring forth.

It sleeps by the riverside,
puzzled and alone.