And The Willows Weep

Woe is the willow, who weeps for us not.
Be still your fear of the pains of wretched flesh.
For I have trespassed where no human flesh was meant to go.
I have dwelled in the Land of the Dead, who dream of sweet repast.
Mine eyes have seen the bitterness of Love and Terror.
My hands touched on Hell's door.
And I, with glory, have travelled back to the so called land of the Living.
Where are the willows now?
---Twisted Poet