The trees up here are thin and fair
Beneath thickened wind which howls away
How they bend and sway and cannot bare
To be spoken of as if they will not stay

I can feel the deep gray clay beneath
The water where my father begs it lay
There is not so much as an autumn leaf of scented left
As there is searing cold to be brushed away

The trees up here are thin and fair
Beneath thickened wind which howls away
How they bend and sway and cannot bare
To be spoken of as if they will not stay