A roof of deeply crevassed bark
Boughs reaching into the dark
Green vines hang like mounded drapes
To cover the dwelling of One Willow Lane
My bed is soft and your bed is firm
Our beds look no different upon our return
They will not sink in or dampen with rain
Like that of the bed at One Willow Lane
Our water is clean, coming straight to our sink
Never wondering how we will clean or can drink
It runs through the pipelines from a water main
Not a river with trash, like One Willow Lane
And I have a window, a fourth-story view
It lessens the wind and it keeps out the dew
It looks pretty at sunset, lit up on the pane
Unlike the mesh cover at One Willow Lane
A tarp and a tent and maybe a bag
Some clothes and a flashlight is all that they have
A sliver of overgrown, weedy terrain
Comprises the acreage of One Willow Lane
Their eastside neighbor, a busy freeway
Of motors and mufflers migrating each day
A view of tall towers and construction cranes
Beyond the thick guard rail at One Willow Lane
Their westside neighbor, with many a barge
Some boats are small and some of them large
Some blast their music and toast with champagne
In a saddening contrast to One Willow Lane
But how did they get there, these residents few?
What could have turned their world so askew?
Did they choose a life free of profit and gain?
Do they suffer unfairly and deal with the pain?
Does their poverty worsen or does it wane?
Did they fall with their vices, weak links in our chain?
Do they still count their blessings or do they complain?
Do they resent people’s contempt and disdain?
We can ask all we want about the domain
But to know all their feelings, what their hearts contain
We should knock on the door of One Willow Lane