The pine tree in the front yard
Ought to have been chopped down years ago,
To hear my family tell it,
But on this dreary, early winter morning,
I am watching the snow fall around it
And it is as still as its postponed death
Ah, you grizzled old man
With your ragged beard
Hanging green about you
I wonder what is keeping you up
What is the iron in your wooden spine?
The pride holding your coil
In a clenched fist towards the sky?