Plight of the Fraser Fir


Atop the peak of the mountain
there is a curious thing,
a stand of lonely Fraser firs
crouch scattered on its cliffs.

Beaten by the wind
with branches sloped to one side,
they slouch like the weary
on a cold winter's day.

Naked roots climb bare rock,
clutching but little earth,
taking what the land provides,
and asking for none more.

They do not stand tall,
they do not stand straight,
but these trees stand proud,
for home is higher
than even the lumbering giants
in the valley far below.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem