Down beneath the willow tree,
dressed from head to toe in green,
the general’s retreat.
His back slumped against the trunk,
his back that stood so tall
his posture wouldn’t fall,
yet clearly you can see,
down beneath the willow tree,
dressed from head to toe in green,
the general’s retreat.
And in his hands,
strong hands that hold a weapon,
lags a snoring dog
in which he holds so delicate
on the earthen ground he sits.
Down beneath the willow tree,
dressed from head to toe in green,
the general’s retreat.
When his tramping feet are much too sore,
head filled of images
of blood and gore
he wants to do but nothing more
to lay his head on soft ancient bark
and sleep a quiet dreamless sleep,
down beneath the willow tree
dressed from head to toe in green
the general’s retreat.