O willow bend thy slender bough
into the waters nigh.
Into the sunset harkening
beneath a summer’s skies.

O willow stand the timeless task
o’er shadows cool beside
the still clear pool of watering
where frogs and minnows hide.

And from thy branch of slenderness
shall not thy be a switch
to tame the maverick child of birth
born from a barber’s itch.

For willows sway the tender breeze
at dawn before the morn.
A time for dreams to pillow stay
as sheep are then twice shorn.