In the land where willows weep
wind blows with a gentle hand
The falling of the tears
saturate the land

The tears of many fill the streams
where the majestic willow grows
The salted waterbed grows deep
with the lessons it knows

She sways in uncanny unison
to the beating of the wind
She moves so gracefully
never to break ... only bend

Gently swaying to and fro
as if to beckon - as if to say
I hear your songs of sadness
with your sorrow I sway

Bending - bending
swaying to and fro
Gently returning
to her posture
after the winds do blow

She reminds me of the structure
of the clan of the Cherokee
Standing tall and proud
looking back at me

Blown about
but not blown down
Beaten but never broken
She speaks to the spirit within my soul
of courage she is a token

Standing beside her
in all her majestic beauty
Learning a lesson I will remember
of life and of my duty

To take the blows
and return to my stature
Straight, tall and proud I am
a work of nature

She tells me what I need to know
to use the sorrow I have found
To reach out with understanding
to try to turn the world around

The voices of many 
she beckons me to share
Stories of the legends of my past
to those who would care

Returning to the roots
from whence I came
Reaching out to others
I am known by the Cherokee name

So softly spoken
by my people on a long-ago day
~*Willow White Feather*~
Softly I sway

 © Marge Tindal
Contact her if you wish to use this poem