Her story was cold,

but immensely moving and delicately told,

they would carve their names in a heart

on the old brown willow,

he became a casualty of war,

now she cries in her pillow,

all night long,

her right went so wrong,

her tears stains the soil,

as her world was abruptly thrown

into terrifying turmoil,

she’d known a man once,

to whom she had said

everything that popped into her head,

now he’s dead,

and her tears were like rain,

no one to blame,

she buries her head into the pillow,

thinking of their names

on the old brown willow.