The Willow Tree

There was a certain memory,
Growing faster than any tree,
And a certain thing called diversity,
Left the tree happily making humility.

The tree was as cool as a willow,
But had been bare of any leaves..
Such people thought it could not stand,
However the tree stood still.

A certain thing called Grit,
Mixed in with curiosity - 
Shaped with the leaves of quality.

How I know this tree is not a lie?
Because I built the tree eye-to-eye.
I made the green leaves and the bark..
And every single twig.

Though this tree might not be interesting,
This is my tree,
And I have set it tall..
Over hills and over falls.

Your tree isn't my tree,
For mine has grew from other kinds of woods,
And is set aside from society.
It has something special of mine -

My diversity to humility.


Poetry


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