Perhaps we may appear to you a photograph of bliss
But standing here in winter dress, those warmer climes we miss.
It seems to me that greener grass is where I’d long to be
Instead of crowded on this road with frosty air to breathe.
When dreadful days of graying skies come ominous and slow,
My weary arms, I feel, will break when burdened with this snow.
While in the south, trees breathe warm winds and whisper all night long
We stand the brunt of winds that wail a woeful winter song.
I long to be a southern palm that gazes at blue seas,
Where weather comes in phases that are more like summer breeze.
Then I would be content to show and I’d no longer whine,
Sweet blossom scents could drift about and stars could clearly shine.
Perhaps you think it strange of me to have these wishful dreams
But then again, perhaps like me you care not for extremes,
For spring and summer, autumn too bring pleasure to this road
And comfort to this growing Pine, without this weighty load.