The Misty Tree

A misty winter, past the window pane,

A solemn tree, stripped, of the countenance of its leaves

Recalls the fullness of warmth, while naked and in pain,

With the company of mist to embrace from the many griefs;

And though fallen are the leaves,

Famished are the trees,

And frosty is the breeze,

Through this pane, the sky like snow itself

Arched a snowy white mane, brimful of Winter’s wealth

That dressed this bare tree, so woolly and so warmly

And yet it can't seem to escape, it's cold melancholy;

It remembers its springing canopy,

It cannot feign, it cannot feign

How hopefully, it's green crown, surely,

Shall be regained—

"Regained! it will be regained surely!"

Exclaimed the Misty Tree,

"And to all its splendor and to all it's green glory!"