My Weeping Willow

 

The very thought forms a grin
directly above my bearded chin,

and it’s probably a sin
to boot
at root:

I know I’m meanly sadistic
and slightly voyeuristic—
and not in the least sunny

or funny

or humoristic—
when I escort my weeping willow,
who’s much prone to tears ashedding,

to a loved one’s funeral
after an intimate wedding.