Weep For The Black Willow

Not bent nor broken,
but felled mid the mangroves,
where overhangs hide snook and redfish,
where a blue heron sits silently perched on one leg,
a black willow died;
its catkins, once nectar for the many,
its bark, once food for the small Florida deer,
its shade, once refuge for a lonely poet,
its memory, swept by the power of a hurricane
its bounty now dwells in dreaming of whales....