In the shady, shallow clefts,
A ray of light doth glow,
A tender, vibrant shoot springs forth,
'Midst rocks as cold as snow.
Though winds howl the banshee's moan,
Though bitter cold doth tear;
In shadowed, forlorn cavern's mouth,
A sapling surely 'tis found there.
Though leaves and branches break in fear,
When stormy gales release their hate,
That tenacious shoot doth hold its place,
'Till storm and snow and winds abate.
Amidst the dusty cavern floor,
Though it be a shallow hold,
At last a sturdy bough springs forth,
Weathered, beaten, torn, yet bold.
And at this affront to dignity,
The winds tear forth in awesome might,
But with a mast thus strong, roots so deep,
'Tis now naught but the sapling's fight.
Though leaf and branch may flee in fright,
And scathing winds still howl in rage,
Though ice doth press amidst the storm,
There stands that tree, by strength of age.