William Q.

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.