In winter, you may look at Cherry Tree
And think perhaps it’s dead,
On freezing morning, there’s no sign,
No leaf, no life therein.
Imagine the surprise to find,
When frosty fog has gone,
That winter sun gives light anew,
To melting drops of dew.
Those shafts of light, for all the world,
Make diamonds of the view.
It isn’t only when it snows,
That Cherry Tree and I,
Play snowball fights and snowmen make.
No, snow arrives again in Spring,
When sunlight’s warmth explodes the buds,
And Cherry Tree becomes a sight-
A pom-pom tree of pink delight,
In which the bees drink up the wine
And hum in unison as they dine.
Then when the blossoms give their last,
The western wind provides the force
That blows each petal from its flower,
But in a pink snow shower.
Summer long, the flowers now gone,
Usurped by leaves of green,
My Cherry Tree becomes the host
Of every bird of song.
Out sings the tree as though it were
The voice of such a throng!
Until their cover turns from green
To every golden colour.
November’s gales wrought havoc strong,
Yet Cherry Tree hangs on;
It’s trunk and branches mighty made,
Withstand that force, until it’s gone.
To stand once more in winter’s shade.
Gold leafy coins, of fortunes told,
Lie round about its roots instead,
But Cherry Tree, though once you thought,
Is very far from dead.