The speaker in this epitaph looks at a weeping willow and makes an urgent, almost strange request: plant some for the millions of children not yet born, not just for those already living. The question turns quickly from gardening to metaphysics. Are the unborn simply nothing, “cells asleep without mind,” or do they arrive on earth with the shock of birth erasing memories of an earlier existence? The speaker doesn’t know, but insists the listener’s “field of unexplored intuition” should provide an answer. There’s both tenderness and restlessness in the voice—grief over mortality mixed with wonder about what came before. The willow, a tree of mourning, becomes a gesture of care for every soul not yet arrived, making the poem feel hushed, puzzled, and strangely hopeful.
Columbus Cheney — Summary
This weeping willow! Why do you not plant a few For the millions of children not yet born, As well as for us? Are they not non-existent, or cells asleep Without mind? Or do they come to earth, their birth Rupturing the memory of previous being? Answer! The field of unexplored intuition is yours. But in any case why not plant willows for them, As well as for us?