A tall and slender tree beside the street
Reaches up to the sky with branches bright
And brightening where they the sun do meet,
Encouraged by warmth and light to greater height.
And up they reach, though the chill of fall arrives,
And winter, at times, does whisper down from on high,
From a perfect blue that fills the sky
Beneath a bright though distant looking light,
And nature’s patient plan of procession
And recession in accordance with time,
Determined down by the far direction
Of a moving series of turning signs.
Yet here a spring past its season seems to strive,
And does, to a purer light, in time, arrive.