By VICKI RICHARDSON

It reflects images
Through a mirror of snowdrops
Of young to old,
Or lonely until together.

Its thoughts are of the
Misty moonlight
Which envelopes it,
And of sunlight in shadows.

It stands without
With the wind pounding at
Its trunk and arms;
Around it the joy and stillness prevail,

Others have the finest
Clothes of green.
But is it joy or remorse,
Wondering, it stands alone.