The Willow Tree of Ours
was just behind the coop
where they sent me out
at daybreak to collect
the efforts of hens.

A place in Southwest Minnesota
which defined flatness, it was
The tallest living thing,
Set against a world
without boundary,

It became a place with limits,
Branches drawn downward
By the hopeful weight of
Summer. An old stool
Became a throne,

Set in the court of a princess.
How I loved to be alone,
Within the dancing of
shade and sunlight.
And I would rise,

Occasioned by a breeze, suddenly
The cheers of my subjects, but
Alas, It was only the leaves of
this grand Willow Tree
Of Ours, and  the hiss,

Of a thousand million tiny leaves.
And I was just a tiny girl,
Who arose each daybreak
to collect the efforts
of hens.