This is one of a number of poems I wrote in high school more than 20 years ago which I kept in a spiral notebook. They are often a bit naive but they help me get a glimpse of a younger me.

Alone or in great company the tree stands proud.

When heavy loads of cold snow weigh it down it stands, round.

Through powerful storms of thunder it stands, brave.

Even with tiny insects feeding the tree stands, lives

Tall proud thick and strong it stands.

Gently swaying in the breeze still it stands.

Small birds living on its’ large, thick branches.

Every year in its foliage something hatches.

With the burden of life ever dragging,

And your soul forever snagging.

Think of the tree and toil,

How free it is and still, slave to soil.