The Sapling

“How beautiful, your limbs, your song”,
The tiny tree across the pond was smitten.
It whispered in the wind to a distant willow,
Hoping for her attention.

"Dance with me?" the tree asked with tensive sway.
Until the day she started shaking.

"Stop teasing him!" The willow scolded the wind.
The wind paid neither heed nor mention.
Her leaves sailed back across the pond,
Tickling the sapling’s obsession.

"The sadness he will feel when this cannot be," the willow wept.
As conviction gathered on the tree.

The wind shifted and pushed against the sapling,
For years it arched and swayed.
A shadow spread above the pond,
As it grew the water's shade.

When at last it reached the other side, the tree could hardly bear,
The weight of its own submissions, and the wind that coaxed it there.

He looked up into her wispy branches,
Mere inches from her place,
"I'm so glad to finally meet you", the sapling beamed,
As his roots gave up their stakes.