Author: William Xu

White shirt on the willow leaves,

Winds in the willows dips the surface

Warm water of the lake that he swims in;

His mother thinks of her boy as a wannabe:

What his father shall be he shall be.

For the “wanderlust” kid, she needn’t open her door;

He will return home from the windows,

Carried by the whizzing evening breeze

Sunlight struck from the willow leaves,

Wavering dim and suddenly bright, and

Lingering along the lake; but still visions he sees

Of the wind now ceasing to banter the leaves

On that long, wet willow by the water.

He packs his stuff and leaves. Straightforwardly.

Weathered walls by the country way,

Burnt marshmallow vestiges drifted in the day.

He walks with a woe-y, weary heart, thinking:

Where were the days wandering for?

Will wonders ever cease? Will wonders ever cease?

What was that I cannot see, cannot be?

The wayward youth wanes in a midsummer wild wind.

The wishes come true, and through he sees.

Life is simply bittersweet; kings never fully retreat.

Would his death be one of infamy, then he lives

With dignity. Like a Spanish medieval knight

Who bears the honorable Code of Chivalry.

Would his death be one of tragedy, then he loves

Dauntlessly. Like a flower which blossoms as

A shot of the gun piercing the silent evening.

Would his life be one pilgrimage, then he lives

With reveries that linger, rendering every summertime

Like the last. Sceneries only repeat.

He dies there instantly, but he soon rises

To find himself in bed, under the Jesus’s feet.

Carried by the wind, he believes,

From the window he has arrived home, as if

Waking up from a long dream, remembering to have

Taken a walk outside, with dews and leaves in his hair,

His white shirt still hanging on the willow leaves.

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