The Weeping Willow

<p>On the fifth day of October 1934 I was born into a working-class family in a little country village in North Cork Ireland. I can vividly remember the hardships and great fear during the war years but we as a family were never hungry or cold. During my school days I was maybe a little above average in most subjects but writing was my favorite subject. As I grew older neighbors or friends would sometimes ask me to write something for some occasion or others such as a poem or a funny song or something. As time went on I began to write stories poems and songs for my own enjoyment. By then I was into driving heavy machinery and writing was a form of relaxation. But the noise from the machinery had a great effect on my hearing. As a result I am now almost deaf. However time must go on and now that I’m retired I can spend more time at my writing.</p><p>My wife is a keen gardener and I sat outside the front door one sunny day admiring her beautiful array of flowers. My gaze fell on a lovely little willow tree which was now in full bloom. I decided to write a little story (magical of course) about this wonderful little tree. Hence I have this story the Weeping Willow. I hope you will enjoy it. Happy reading and as we say in Ireland “Slainte.”</p>