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.