The Willow

The vibrant colors,

brown and yellow,

attract passing fellows.

The willow houses many, little birds and squirrels.

Running up and down,

for many, a playground.

Leaves like stars,

sparkle in the dark, 

Unaware of its beauty, performing its duty,

stands there never complaining.

Reminding me of my father,

the willow,

giving us joy, branches strong

like father's arm, 

like squirrels running and swaying. 

Sheltering us, from sun and 

rain, 

in humid weather we never feign. 

Climbing on his trunk,

reaching for his shoulders and arms.

Fathers are our tree, our umbrella.