Once in a Blue Moon

The weeping willow tree sways,
shadowing over their motionless bodies.
He lies next to her, book in hand,
and her Spagetti-o head of curls in the other.
The sun on medium heat,
graces her golden forehead.
Wind dances past his face,
tickling his stubborn eyebrow.
Mother earth falls onto her chest,
he runs the feather like leaf up her neck, long and lovely-
Little peach fuzz hairs awake and stand up.
"Why is it called a weeping willow? when it doesn't weep?" She always asked.
The tree innocently beautiful,
even with it's rough brown torso.
The breaking silence-
leaves brush against each other,
like his lips on hers,
allowing her to weep
once in a blue moon.