It starts as a sapling; young and naive.
No critcisms; No obstacles can stop its growth.
Seasons pass yet it still grows.
In Winter, it is of age at which ambition and intellect grow.
Deters, it does not for it now has goals.
Evenings pass and go without a glance of the Willow.
Oven like are the Summers.
Fires rage on and the Willow is ravaged with ideals, negativity, doubts, and reality.
Menacing fumes surround the Willow as reality settles in.
Everything becomes dark and the Willow fades in the rain into a sodden ash of its former ambition.
Read the first letter of every line after the poem.