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The Weeping Willow

The Weeping Willow

By the river bank she sits,
Alone and quiet,
Gently the willow weeps,

Diffferent from the others,
Shunned by the oak, elm and even the pine,
She sings sweetly, a lonely ballad,
A haunting voice that speakes of age,

Ever so gently does the breeze brush her branches,
As the Queen sits upon her thrown,
Quietly the willow weeps.

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