The Willowy Apparition

Is it the wine that speaks, 
Or the inner id, 
Of the gloomy years and unending tales, 
And of the few that I can speak.
Ere the nights grow long,
And the days grow dark, 
Before the years are done, 
And the writing is stark. 

Willows do stand, Willows do fall, 
By the brook they stand,
By that brook they fall.

Something by the way they stand, 
Something by the way they fall.