The sky was painted Crimson,
Under the old willow tree, she stood.
The wood brown violin sleeping in her hand, was dreaming of faint tunes.
Tweet! It was woken up by the song of the bird.
It devised with the little bird, a song melancholy and stressed,
Of the last tree of the pink village,
Has fallen. Died.
The village turned grey.
Wanting to save the willow tree, she ran and ran and ran.
To find a place safe for her beloved,big willow.
She ran and ran and ran, to reach the heaven of trees.
The keeper said” He will be safe with me, along with his fellow species,”
she ran to reach her so, dearest tree.
Village gate opened, to a dark and dusty world.
She knew- Her Willow had fallen.