A Willow Sapling
In a forgotten garden
(In the shadow of her house),
A willow sapling stands
In a circle of paint flakes.
Beneath the kitchen window
(Long closed, painted shut),
It hangs low
Under the weight of a hanging vine.
In the gloom of the overgrowth
(Once trimmed),
It hungers for more light
Within its sunless nook.
During the driest time of the year
(For she is too old to water her yard),
It misses the rain
In this dry country.
Forgotten and just days from sleeping,
They are waiting.