The pine tree seems to listen, the fir tree to wait and both without impatience – Friedrich Nietzsche
Oh thee petite pine tree!
Shapely you rise like a ladder to haven.
Your light branches welcome every season,
Be it a fine spring day or coldest of winters.
Your cone hides seeds in its layers,
Which when falls scatters them,
On the carpet of your needle like leaves!
Your other forms then rise like phoenix on other hill.
When the snow hurricane sweeps the vale,
And the crested north winds rise high.
I hear moans of your fragrant branches,
Nurtured by a tender yet proud tree canopy.
In woods, you congregate with others of your species,
And talk about songs of an old epoch.
It is said that you have seen some hundred years,
Yet you gently sway like a young sapling
In the severe arid clime of mountains.1 comment