The Willows Of Dispusation

The pink willows were amast
in the duel-stricken meadow.

Centuries of picking battles beneath
them made trees so peaceful cry.

The men stand at attention, rage damming
the tears in their eyes. Face front, their
honor says but their families pray, run.

Each man's limbs were set to shake
as both turn to face the opposite
way.

1...2....3...

Locked within time, every moment
is bottled, the colonial men are to
never quarrel again.

Roots froze each foot, and violet
leaves shield each eye, no reason
to fight, no reason to try.

"Don't leave us again.", the widowed
willows wept.