R.I.P., lovely Trees
and, many thanks for all you have given.
“Two trees were born in a hillside grove.
One protested, grew strong, her trunk smooth
and tall, tucked away from the elements.
The other stood unprotected,
where the howling winds tore by.
She was stooped and twisted, her arms
knew torturous weights of snow.
The first tree was slim and virginal and perfect,
a picture for all the world to see.
But artists who climbed the hillside grove,
always painted the other tree.”