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Willow

The willow escapes from the ordinary with wet feet. Churlishness aside it favors us with salicylic acid, the bane of your terrible, unconscionable headache. The willow goes beyond mere solicitude by drooping close to river surface and sighing. Willows bear their young in the slinky strands of their branches. Their lullabies prove comforting like a piano floating in the breeze. The willow can pronounce many large words but life is not a game. Life is a motivation to live while willow stands at river edge and watches canoe disappear. Politically, willows bend because the winds of change and so on. Like most people, there's no stopping a willow from drooping. In the murky sentence of summer the willow goes nowhere, being rooted in moment. Willows vote pro-union because reasons always matter. Matter itself does not. This cuts close to the willow of willow, a timeless retort to timelessness where vacations seem possible and busy carpenters cast their hammers skyward.


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