willow willow willow our darling singing at the well, and up and down our road sweet as longing that song but the singing of it’s dying, it’s the dying that’s all wrong, yes
the world’s a huge thing but not much for worn pockets or a bodice with a heart in it or a closet full of stones
what is it that they do
when they change us for others? oh my dear, you must know they think to change themselves
willow willow willow where they want, they will where they will, they go
In the beginning there was a small door, but escape was less attractive then than forests full of
undiscovered species like yourself, you thought. So many things you did not think, things you did not hear– monkeys for example
not so unlike you screamed alarm from tree to tree–
you thought such dangers did not apply to you, lounging on beaches where the sea
drags pebbles out and in and out, your mind entangled with the flow of things. Back at your campsite a god disguised
as some random someone passing through prepared a dish you tasted only once and now forever long to taste again.
Why were you so busy dodging luck? It took such work to find the wrong places and love the wrong men,
the ones you crowded, the ones who crowded you, the one you found to leave you to your solitude, the one you found to leave.
Free of all encumbrance, now you know nothing burdens like the want of love.
image: The History of Four-footed Beasts and Serpents (1658)http://publicdomainreview.org