Mark Czanik

The Willow’s Song

The willow is weeping.

She weeps for her sisters,

and a pool is fed by the tears she sheds.

The pool feeds a creek that flows to the ocean.

Oh, the ocean is full of her treasures, she said.

.

The rain is falling.  

It falls on the hillside,

and a girls stands where the willow once stood.

The girl finds a street that’s lost in the city.

Oh, the rain is full of her treasures, she said.

.

The wind is calling.

It calls at her window,

and her hair is spinning like beads on a thread.

The thread hangs around her in the heart of the city.

Oh, the wind is full of her treasures, she said.

.

Darkness is calling.

It calls for the dawning,

and the moon is full, but her eyes are red.

She tells you her secrets are lost to the darkness.

Oh, the darkness is full of her treasures, she said.

.

Sisters are singing.

They sing for the weaving,

and the corn is turning like a spider’s web.

The corn turns a circle round the heart of the city.

Oh, the circles are full of their treasures, they said.

.

The willow is sleeping.

She sleeps for the dreaming,

and a pool is fed by the dreams she sheds.

The pool feeds a creek that’s lost in the city.

Oh, the city is full of her treasures, she said.      

*

Biography

Mark Czanik was born in the ‘sweet borderlands’ of Herefordshire, and now lives in exile in Bath. His poems and stories have appeared in Southword, Cyphers, Wasafiri, Riptide, The Rialto, The Interpreter’s House, and many other lovely magazines.

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