The Tree

Gnarled, twisted, writhing snake, Snow-shod ‘neath a winter sky, Putting on the feathery flake, Only then to lay it bye. Standing bleak and bare, alone— Leaves have drifted to the ground; Cheerful, chirping birds have flown; The howling wind’s the only sound. Stalwart, staunch, and strong it stands ‘Neath the vaulted roof of sky. Fearless of cruel winter’s hands; It will live again, although it die. May we too stand straight and sure, Even ‘neath death’s troubled sky, Knowing that...