Romanticism- Weeping Willow

Walking by the waterways, I spied a weeping willow,
Green of leaf but bent in grief, a masterpiece of sorrow.
Unsure of why this tree were broke in lowered voice I softly spoke:

"Willow, why do you weep? Do you despise the hum of flies?
Are you sick of water deep? Do you look upon the glaring skies
And long for hollow sleep?"

"Human I have watched this world for many years in silent thought,
I've reached for stars with limb unfurled, twigs and branches overwrought.
That lofty race was never won and I who stretched towards the sun
Ceased to grow and now I know that truly I am nearly done.
For such as us live fleeting lives and only grow so tall,
When willows reach a certain size our leaves begin to fall.
This is how you find me here, sick from unknown ill
And is it weak to shed a tear my mind will soon be still?
Though may I ask you sit with me and read some rhyme out loud?
Perhaps of immortality to lift this morbid cloud."

"Forgive me Willow if you would, this book of paper page,
It's worth the murder if the words should still your heartwood's rage.
Now I'll sit and read to you a story never heard,
A tale not of tiny shrew or lofty soaring bird.
But of the ways of modern man and city not too far,
Bridges built to a river's span and roaring motor car.
In the west glass towers rise to stand among the weather,
Their tips near scraping greying skies, giants hulked together.
Ever watching with glazed face as if they were alive,
Below these greats the human race; truly this the hive-
Of decadence and crystal glitz, our currency excess,
Patrons seeking daily hits and pleasures of the flesh.
Ground is paved with concrete walk, our steps are eased by drink,
Endless people daily talk, perhaps a hundred think-
Of fragrant grass not in a joint... but as the night comes on, my tree
I'll press upon the point; Your dream of immortality
Is not some childish fantasy: A thousand years metropolis
And waxing still its girth. No ravages could topple this
Grey titan of the earth."

I closed the book I'd brought with me to see the Willow still,

"Now I must go home sad tree, I feel the evening's chill."

It only spoke one final time with this concluding rhyme;

"I have listened well and good to all you had to say.
Now give this humble firewood the last word of the day.
It is true the good pass young so from what you have said,
If city shall swallow all the land... I'm glad that I'll be dead."