Where the wandering willows weep; 
for far they’ve come, no home, 
my foggy mind leaps 
to the end of the galaxy known. 
Who should I meet 
but the galaxy always alone. 

Once my travels cease, 
back to the shady grass. 
The tears the willows weep 
have turned all to laughs, 
to water at their feet,
a home they have at last.  

Unlike earth beneath the trees, 
my roots do not dig so. 
They open their hairy arms 
to much I do not know. 
Like water beneath the trees  
absorb all I need to grow.  

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