I loved that old weeping willow tree
The one just outside the kitchen window
With it’s long, sweeping branches
Hanging to the ground like curtains
Perfect for play of all sorts underneath
In the short, stubby grass and visible roots
That served as fences for my horses
And sometimes a barrier from bullets
Whizzing past my brother’s G. I. Joes’
The branches became swinging vines
For Indiana Jones and camouflage
For various army men and the famous “Mr. Eggie”
The poor grass got quickly worn away
Partly from my horses eating so much of it
And also from paths made from Cowboys and Indians
Riding my horses, of course, hunting buffalo
Baby dolls were carefully placed against its bark
So as not to mess their dolly dresses at tea time
And rocked to peaceful sleep in the shelter of its shade
More than a time or two it became a mighty fortress and a club house
And countless times it was base for “tag you’re it!”
I can still hear sparrows chirping in the branches
And Mother telling us it’s time to come inside
I wish I could revisit that wonderful old tree again
A place where our childhood imaginations lived every day
As I look back with tender memories and smile
I hope its still there with adoring children underneath it
Playing in their own special worlds as only children can