Rarely there are sights to see
Greater than our dogwood tree.
Blushing pink at Spring's warm kiss,
“It's quite splendid,” we'd agree.
Now I stop to reminisce
Of the times of golden bliss.
We'd repose in its warm glow;
Times like these I'll come to miss.
It now begins to shock me, though,
How sad it looks in three foot's snow.
Its gnarled trunk now split in two,
My spirit plunges to a low.
The vacant yard will have to do
Until we plant something new.
Soon our garden may shine gold
When the new tree's strong and old.