The Weeping Tree

I was not asked to be a weeping tree,

branches heavy with sorrow.

Leaves trembling whispered secrets, each droplet, 

with an untold story. 

My roots delve deep, 

anchored in the earth, 

but the weight pulls me down. 

When the wind howls, 

I sway with the burden, 

the creak of my trunk 

echoing the ache of silent cries.