Weeping willow
all alone
shades the master's head
as he bows in silent agony
over the three crosses upright there-
three sons went to war,
there were none to return.
His wife died young.
The slaves have all left.
It's only the master
hidden from the fierce Southern sun
under the weeping willow graves.
Author notes
from the reconstruction era
A contest entry
- 15 minutes - 5 by Melissa Gayle.
300 points, ended February 1, 2007, 12 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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This is really beautiful.
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A beautiful and tender write that is heartbreaking. Your words brought this story to life in my mind. Well done dear poet.
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