I weep, in the dark hours of morning, at the willow’s memory.
That’s where we’d meet. Hold each other tight. Whisper our love. And in cowardice I kept my betrothal from her.
I told her we’d be together always—a promise I knew to be hollow.
When I saw her with another, under the willow’s sweeping branches I turned without hearing her dismiss him. But I heard her cry when she saw me, sure enough. I walked away.
Only later, mired in troubled thought, did I determine to tell her what I’d kept secret. I could withhold the truth no longer.
But like a fool I drank for courage. Too much wine. She found me unmoving from its effects; laid out at the base of our sturdy trunk.
Then, thinking me poisoned she carved out the lines I hear nightly.
Davey, oh Davey, I’ll hurt you no more
For you were the one I did truly adore
Where we lay together I now set you free
as I lay down alone beneath our willow tree
Then she turned the blade against the bare flesh of her wrist.