The Mightiest Tree of All

What tree stands tallest in the forest?
It is ancient and the strong,
The redwood, old and broad.
A living tower reaching up,
Grasping the sky in their branches.
Letting their leaves dance in the wind
That only birds and mountains know.
Yet for their height the redwood pales,
To the wise and wondrous bristlecone pine,
Older by far than the towering redwood.
The secrets they keep the world knows not,
But they’ll keep them longer still.
Until time turns their trunks to stone,
And their secrets to dust.
Who is to say the measure of a tree,
Is in its strength or age?
The proud oak is coveted by all.
In storybooks, in gardens, in song
They are proud and true.
They must have a reason for pride.
Or perhaps it is not more than vanity.
What of the ash?
The tree which bears the name of death.
The ash stands brave against the odds.
When even its own name dictate it burn.
With all of these which tree is greatest?
I think yet that there is another.
Though it may at first seem strange,
Which is still mightier than all these.
The willow weeps, both day and night.
When the sun shines, or the sky cries.
The willow ever mourns.
The willow is born broken-hearted.
Its very form attests to this.
While all others send their branches up,
The willow bows them low.
A willow may weep all its days,
But in all its days stands strong.
The willow weathers the stormy winds.
The willow takes the beating of the sun.
The willow thirsts in drought,
And sputters in the flood.
All trees must do these things,
If they are to survive.
But the willow does one thing more,
The willow weeps,
And still stands tall.