The Willow

Photograph courtesy of Gina Louise Kirkland

The wind is whistling beyond the walls
of the room in which I write.
I hear with my earthly ears as it calls,
and its power seems to invite
a message from Soul (via squalls),
through an image of genuine might.

I see myself as a willow tree
that is bending with the blow.
The weakest of limbs are forced to break free
so that stronger branches can grow,
while what is essentially me
most adroitly adjusts to the flow.

The willow welcomes both gale and breeze;
once refined, she then can stand.
And as a nor’easter levels some trees
when it blows its way ‘cross the land,
the ego must fall to its knees
ere the Self can create what She planned.