A pine tree needs fire to grow.

Its journey is all ebb and flow.

Stubborn as a plant can be,

liberated is the pine tree.

When the flowers start to wilt,

and sunflowers begin to tilt,

a pine tree will shoot into the sky,

boughs like wings that can fly.

It gazes from its gilded throne,

lofty and proud and all alone.

But when it spins for all to see,

The only plant in sight is family.

Immense in quantity, wanting in quality.

What kind of tree thrives in frivolity?

A pine tree revels in its weakness,

though it can’t account for its own meekness.