Morning Willow

Morning with the willow tree,
buttercups calm,
daisy crown
on notebook knees,

you said, the rain will come, but it will pass.

I leant beneath the friendly bough,
closed eyes,
lidded patter.

She came to me then,
speaking love.

My shoulders swayed, as if in a wooden boat,
just listening
to small waves clap and sing against the side
soft.

As soon as it had started
as soon as it had left

so, down to picking up
fallen willow wisps
as if collecting a precious batch of delicate firewood fingers,

bundled into a blue silk knot
for drawn Autumn nights
far off yet.