- Under the Willow Bridge -

By John Herlihy

Quiet ripples stir under the Willow Bridge,

As river waters flow on.

In the night shade of the weeping willows,

The boatman steers his boat.

The moon follows its own prescribed way,

Following the sun like a shadow.

The pale light that the moon has borrowed,

Brushes the waters as luminous dust.

Have you heard the ripples under the Willow Bridge?

Have you been in the shade of the weeping willow?

Have you seen the boatman and his flaming torch?

Have you heard the ghostly sound of the bell echo?

The boatman’s eyes alert to the light of a torch,

To splinter the darkness with sparks.

And I hear in the distance, from beyond the temple,

From beyond Crystal Mountain.

I hear the soft midnight bell ringing for me,

As I sit here in the boat.

Everything with a voice now seems strange,

As though never said before.

Have you heard the ripples under the Willow Bridge?

Have you been in the shade of the weeping willow?

Have you seen the boatman and his flaming torch?

Have you heard the ghostly sound of the bell echo?

The rippling of the waters sounded as a baby gurgling,

A misty rain brings coolness to the hot summer night,

Everything can be seen thru a hazy veil of moonlight,

A night bird sings the staccato rhythms of a river song.

Have you heard the ripples under the Willow Bridge?

Have you been in the shade of the weeping willow?

Have you seen the boatman and his flaming torch?

Have you heard the ghostly sound of the bell echo?

Demons will rise up from the folds of the waving willows

To intensify a sense of eerie night.

Water monsters will rise up from murky depths of the river,

Seeking shadows of the distant gorge.

The bell sound now comes back across the darkened waters,

in soft, declining waves.

The sound exquisite and dream-like, different from other bells,

Ringing beyond head and heart, down to the feet.

Have you heard the ripples under the Willow Bridge?

Have you been in the shade of the weeping willow?

Have you seen the boatman and his flaming torch?

Have you heard the ghostly sound of the bell echo?

I bow my head in remembrance as I read these lines,

The memory engraved on my heart.

Being there late at night, in slow motion in the darkness,

Under the plate of night, the moon, the stars.

The delicate tracing of weeping willows fringed with light

Whisper ancient mystery into the wind.

Listening to the tolling of the bell in the dark distance,

The waters shining like India ink.

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(c) John Herlihy December 2018