The Proud Tree

A proud tree, outstretched toward the heavens, A prideful tree, crowned with golden leaves. Boasting of its beauty since the days of Eve. But a wicked winter is going to blow. O beautiful tree, where now is your glory? Your many adornments fall to the dirt. And the nests crafted in your branches are abandoned territory. But when the winter travels West and its cold air diverts, Your heart of wood will melt the frost on you, And your pride once again will glow a brilliant hue. The birds will rest and return from where they flew. And a beauty which is imperfect is a beauty true.