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A muffled sigh
By the lakeshore,
Echoes in the quiet hour
Like a lone owl’s cry.

A bruised soul,
Bluer than the day sky,
Awaits the night,
In need of succor.

The willow tree weeps,
For my wicked agony.
It reaches down to me,
With its whispering leaves.

Intently I listen,
To this soft rustling song,
That I’ve known for so long.
A beautiful rhythm!

Yet truly dysphoric.
A sadness so severe,
It has me in tears,
Like one lovesick.

I see my reflection,
In the deep melancholy
Of this grieving tree.
An innate connection.

Now the night is nigh.
And while the old Sun drowns,
My bitter heart scowls,
At his woeful plight.

I cringe in the shadows
Of the dangling branches,
And fade into the darkness,
As it slowly falls.

We are one,
The willow tree and I.
Beneath the godless sky,
We are all alone.

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