Deep in Eden’s garden grove,
Two figures slept in safest cove.
They dream of snakes and angels grand
Which makes their arm hair on end stand.
A racket wakes them presently,
Expels their dreams too suddenly.
A look outside and they could tell
Their heaven had become a hell.
A rain of fire and globs of tar
A rain of thorns that quite sharp are
Explode the trees known from their youth
Which told them all of nature’s truth.
The two look on with mouths agape,
“How did this havoc come to shape?”
“I cannot know nor do not need,
We must go now, and do our deed!”
Eve who has a medic’s touch
Runs to find the Garden’s Sun.
Its light eclipsed would spell a doom,
For souls not ‘ready in their tomb.
Bravely Eve defends the Sun,
Blocking blows, but missing some;
The sun’s strong light begins to dim,
As thorns and tar surround its rim.
Adam with his longer gait,
Goes to question wise old Fate:
Why do Plagues from Heaven fall?
Where are the Garden’s critters all?
After marching for an hour,
Adam’s face began to dour.
“Where is that prophet’s home again?
Another hour, we’ll all be dead!”
Without conviction, wandering,
By rains assaulted, whimpering,
The darkness closes in on him,
His prospects looking super grim.
Suddenly, without a sign,
The stars decided to align:
No tar, no thorns, no blazing fire
Fell down upon the wounded shire.
Herself empowered by the Sun,
Whose light’s pizzazz was nearing none,
Eve casts a spell she thinks she knows,
Which magnifies the orb’s bright glow.
Instantly the light destroys
The blackness messing with its poise;
Her spell too strong, poor hapless Eve
Is of her eyes’ employ bereaved.
Presently she hears a sound –
It’s Adam slinking, like a hound
Returning from a hunting trip
No prizes hanging from its lip.
“Adam! Adam! Is that you?
I cannot see, my eyes are screwed!
There’s just one thing to cure my sight:
The Weeping Willow’s tears of white.”
“The way is long,” replies the man,
“I don’t believe I even can.
My joints are sticky, muscles rent,
My feet are burnt, and I am spent.”
“Perk up!” says Eve, her tone surprised.
“The passage there I’ve memorized.
I’ll heal your wounds when I can see,
Then we return to sleep and dreams.”
So off they go to find the tree
Whose holy sap they need to free.
But chaos managed by the Skies
Transformed the treescapes into sties.
With Adam having to describe
The changèd landscape every stride,
The pair advancèd languidly
Through vines, dead trees, and black debris.
“No more for now,” cries Adam, bent,
When they had more than halfway went.
“My resting will not be complete
Till I’ve these daggers from my feet.”
“Give me your foot, I’ll take good care.
Relax, feel free to cry, there, there.”
As her hands move o’er his toes,
The blisters, burns, and cuts did close.
While she works her loving ways,
Adam drinks the Sun’s strong gaze.
“The light is brighter now than ever,
You must have done a thing quite clever!
“Each leaf portrays a thousand hues,
Each stream a hundred million blues.
I’ve never seen a nicer spot!”
She answered, “Thanks, oh, thanks a lot.”
The rest complete, the healing done,
The pair move forward at a run.
“My sight is slightly better now,
We will move quickly to the bough.”
After walking for a while,
Eve stopped dead, begins to smile.
“It’s not five minutes hence, you’ll see,
I feel the sacred meadow’s plea!”
Just then, a crimson glow descends,
Which Adam his attention lends.
An angel, just like in his dreams,
With sword of ice and shield of greens.
“What do I sense that blocks our path?”
Inquires the ordinary lass.
“It is an angel, O so bright,
I will not let it from my sight!”
The angel drifts away, and Adam
Leaves behind his addled madam.
The light is fading, night will fall,
And she alone must bear it all.
All night she waits in such a huff,
And though she thinks herself quite tough,
She dares not move or stir or speak,
Lest her station turn more bleak.
Finally the man returned,
Though saying he hath nothing learned.
They continued on to see
The valley of the sacred tree.
Eve, though sightless, looks and sees,
The trouble taken by the trees.
All her fears at once confirmed,
At sobs from Adam’s apple heard.
“The tree is dead!” he cries on his knees,
“Have none from heaven heard our pleas?
I have no tears, these sobs are dry;
We cannot live if we cannot cry!”
Adam collapses, pounds the ground,
His weeping now the only sound.
Eve, in hearing his despair,
Embraces him with arms and hair.
Adam, sick of breathing weird,
Lifts his head and wipes his beard.
“The angel gave its feather me,
What good it does, I cannot see.”
The feather, lithe, delightful thing,
A manic warmth to Eve now brings.
Her heart’s enjoyment joins the choir,
And from her eyes, great tears transpire.
Healing tears from stricken eyes,
Roll down her cheek and on his thighs,
And pool upon the ground so dry:
Keen ears might hear a little sigh.
Eve and Adam, both with eyes that see,
Espy a wondrous, magic feat:
From scene of death, a little sapling,
With the earth and stones a-grappling.
The Weeping Willow, new again,
Delights the duo to no end.
They swear an oath to visit more
The tree which they have helped restore.