She sat under a willow tree
In the darkness of a moonlit night,
Letting her eyes sweep upwards,
Gazing at a lone star.
She knew the wind to be dancing around,
For the needles tickled her head,
And waves rolled past the sea of grass,
As if to meet that one lone star.
She felt her soul splitting in two,
Her spirit wishing to run away,
Yet shackles bound her to the ground,
A reminder of the life she lived.
When she visited her dream again,
After long years of sixty-five,
An old lady waiting to die,
She lay underneath a black night.
For to the tree she had bid farewell,
And to the moon goodbye.
No longer could she feel the dancing wind,
For now the chains were so tight.
Alone she waited for a path,
A way to free her spirit trapped inside.
And then it came - escape with her final breath
To the faithful single lone star.
Guided to what could have been,
To a meadow of inky grass,
Under a moonlit night,
The sky littered across with stars,
And the field with willow trees,
She pranced around, a young girl of eight,
Finally happy and wild and free.
Good poetry. But too morbid from a young writer. I would love to see poetry of hope, of a new beginning.
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