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?