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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