Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "The Weeping Willow."

 Our Man in Europe/now Belize/Dave Delacroix: "The Weeping Willow."

(dedicato: Marc Pierson.)

"The Weeping Willow."

I TAUGHT THE WEEPING WILLOW how to sigh. I taught the weeping willow how to CRY, cry, cry! I taught my OWN SOUL how to "shimmie-shammie" at some Celtic Ceidlih (Scottish Highland Fest.) & to this day I cannot fathom why.

I never mastered the "Highland-Fling" (no Kilt!) nor yodeled, with the best in High Germany? I wandered as a CLOWN, I sang, town after town, but whenever I came across a willow tree: It wept, perhaps a broken heart? And I'd compose a song.

I never had much trouble with OAK, SILVER BIRCH or Cricket bats. They'd (Cricket) bowl at me & I'd just send 'Em right back?  (A Yorkshire Man!) It's always - perhaps? - when your brain is made of wood U never should ABIDE (Big Lebowski!) by GOD's plan? But I - indirectly - somehow had my own wood grain? (I josh with the idea of a Mortis & Tenor joint!?...but probably made of Balsa wood/light & un-caring/Don't cry for me Argentina!)

I taught the weeping willow how to sigh. I freely - handing out Kleenex tissues - I taught the weeping willow how to cry; but it never does much good. A "Mariachi/strolling minstrel" for street Ducats, singing how we live or die. Our roots should be in Heaven, but a willow tree beneath is where now I lie...upper branches, as always wrestle with the wind!

c.2026. Dave Delacroix.