Weeping Willow Poem Novels & Stories

A true spectacular for those who did not know the forest well. Nora took in a breath and perked her ears to hear the soft breeze whistling through the leaves. She smelled that of blossoming wild berries and the return of prey, old and new. She continued her walk until she reached a clearing where a great weeping willow stood in the center. It's bark looked as though it was covered in ash. She was amazed at the sight of such an old tree but her eyes soon turned to the figure that sat beneath it. . . .

He had notice something growing on its trunk, a smooth bump that was a size of a person’s face, worrying that it was a parasite he had tried to gently claw it off, but deep green liquid had ooze out, he had gotten scared, afraid of hurting the tree and decided to let it be, That night he had slept on the roots of the willow. Restless he couldn’t shake the feeling of violence inside of him, his beast growling and twitching, he wanted blood, he glanced back from where he stood pressing his face on the tree as if telling her he would come back, he ran. He needed to release such anger. ...

He placed his palm on one particularly overgrown root and held it there for just a moment, before stepping back and joining me at my side. Still uncertain of what’s happening, I was moments away from asking Nate until the sound of leaves rustling and wind whistling around the trunks caught my attention. Slowly, branches and bark aside of the tree sunk into the soil it previously rested on. Once swallowing the detritus, the soil surface began to creep outwards, retracting and climbing up the trunk of the weeping willow. Beneath where the forest surface had laid, stood a grey stone staircase that lead into the ground. Soon enough, no sign of the forest could be seen and the stairs led a clear

With a swift motion, I threw aside the towel I had been holding and stormed out. My feet carried me hastily to the solace of my bedroom, longing for a moment of respite. Once alone, I could no longer hold back the flood of emotions. Tears streamed down my face as I allowed myself to succumb to the overwhelming sense of defeat. All I wanted in that moment was for the weight of Willow's wickedness to disappear. To make matters worse, the distant sounds of Daisy and Christopher's voices reached my ears, blending with the melancholic symphony playing inside my mind. Their laughter and sweet words, exchanged in the other room, intensified my sense of loss and loneliness.

His pack was different from ours, more like wolves than humans—less prone to unnecessary drama. He led me outside to a garden at the side of the house. The sun shone brightly above us, its light filtering through the drooping branches of the weeping willows that surrounded the area. I felt like a crying willow myself, mirroring the somber mood of the garden.

From the size of the tent in his pants, I know I won’t be disappointed. We cross the bridge, reaching the other side of the pack grounds. As we approach the willow tree by the pond, its golden-green leaves drape over the water, brushing the earth like an ethereal curtain. The scene is bathed in golden sunlight, the reflection of lilies dotting the water’s surface. It’s as magical as I remember, and utterly perfect for this moment.

Not the song her body makes. I took to the roof at the edge where the day fails. The city opened its thousand mouths: steam rising in white prayers, iron beasts coughing under their own harness, windows blinking to life like a field of domesticated stars. I knelt against a chimney and listened to the old house on Willow Street breathe with the patience of something that has outlived names. Far off, a single thread of sound tightened and slackened as the wind worried a loose strip of shutter. For one foolish heartbeat I thought it a string under a finger.

Mine. “Mate.” I said, with a voice of longing. Willow’s hair started floating like an unseen force was causing it to rise. Hot air was flowing from her, and I felt like the final piece to my puzzle was about to be placed. Following her instinct, Willow held her palms up to meet mine, her entire body ignited like a torch. Blood red flames mixed with no other colors as it surrounded her. Her fire burned like mine. It was as if heaven and hell opened up and poured power down onto us. Our flames intertwine around each other like a cyclone. Blue and red were blending, turning so hard and fast that everyone around us was nothing but a blur.

"Check the roots, Kaelor. This willow isn't just growing; it's hiding something." Aradaa’s voice cracked, a dry rasp that barely carried over the whistle of the wind. He leaned his weight against the massive, gnarled trunk of the weeping willow, his fingers digging into the bark. The tree was a freak of nature in this wasteland, its long, sweeping branches forming a curtain of silver-grey leaves that scraped against the parched earth.

I look out the window of my home office at the ant bird that pecked endlessly at the foot of the large Northern Red Oak tree in my compound as if it wanted to unearth a hidden treasure before it flew away to a nearby branch. My eyes flit to the Willow tree that seemed to be looking over the water fountain flowing peacefully beside it. "A wreath of Willow to show my forsaken plight." I silently sip from the glass of white wine clutched firmly in my hand. Each gulp felt like a river of lava flowing through my gut as sorrow and pain cloud my features.