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The way the willow blows upon the solemn street
Is the way that it wishes it had feet like you and me
Away and down the alley it could ponder and meet
But alas, you see, that willow tree will never be as free
It's branches have wept in silent ways as never you travel near
The way it comes and hangs its heads make you stop and stare
For beyond it waits for nothing more than its worst fear
Because it can not dance, oh true, and thus no one seems to care
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