Juvenile pine that once stood naively tall
Having taken root on an uneven bank
In a climate that you once considered mild
You can now be found hungover
Bent down with your uppermost branches
Just inches above the brittle ground
You stand, but, prostrate
Surely, if trees can feel, spirit-breaking pain
Take comfort, though, because you are evergreen
And like your long Carolina leaves
Your sins are covered in white snow
Though you long to be numb to the pain
The warm will come and your burden will melt away