Wintry wind sweeps in freezing snow
Blanketing ground laid bare of green
Beneath bark touched by shawls of white
Only a sapling years ago
In this bucolic pastoral scene
No longer young, no longer sprite
Yet when they fell you stopped the foe
Stood your ground remaining serene
The wind no match for stalwart might
Stooped and crooked, this we can see
Yet forever my favorite tree
