The Tree

Gnarled, twisted, writhing snake,
Snow-shod ‘neath a winter sky,
Putting on the feathery flake,
Only then to lay it bye.

Standing bleak and bare, alone –
Leaves have drifted to the ground;
Cheerful, chirping birds have flown;
The howling wind’s the only sound.

Stalwart, staunch, and strong it stands
‘Neath the vaulted roof of sky.
Fearless of cruel winter’s hands;
It will live again, although it die.

May we too stand straight and sure,
Even ‘neath death’s troubled sky,
Knowing that by faith secure
We shall live, although we die.