There’s a place inside me that’s curling up
A little piece from a willow tree
The leaves are strewn among the grass blades, decaying
And the wick is drying up and shrunk.
There are pieces like it but they’re still on the tree
My piece looks up only for it to see
The others are alive but they can only see the ground
Is it better in my place or theirs? I want to be found,
Taken away and woven ever beautiful
Into a wedding crown, and always regarded with a honey-warm
eye
I can’t believe their compliments and kind words
Because I’m promised, instead, happiness from the biggest
big guy.
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