There’s a fir in our front yard
that seems to never mind the cold.
And though the wind’s been blowing hard,
the roots have never failed to hold.
For all our years, I’ve watched it grow
– a taller, fuller, richer tree
expanding where the kids won’t mow –
but now there’s something else I see.
That thriving fir, that evergreen,
alive despite the blows of chance,
reflects our love: The storms we’ve seen
were too weak to thwart our great romance.
This root that holds us fast in strife
and nurtures us in sweeter times
is now my source of joy in life
and cause for these, my humble rhymes.