Willows

Willows

I sit admiring the willow tree
Down by the meandering river.
It is late fall
and the woodlands crunch
under shoes and rustling red leaves
in the cool breezes of coming winter.

It is oblivious this willow
Still waving its hanging branches
It leaves all intact
not a single one fallen.
They have become paler
Like a child foretelling illness.

But ignoring all others
Happily they continue 
to wave on the
surface of the river.
Just as they did in the warm
salad days of summer.

I admire this tree
It has so many strengths.
Ones that I envy
It continues happily
Regardless of winters icy call.
Its leaves the last ones to turn
The last ones to fall.