The White Pine

Afar the hill the white pine grows

To toil a life which of that is not known

A breath of fire, to ash and of smoke

Footsteps up the mountain

Glared light shines bright to float

Needles drift to brush courteous branches

Adrift like the wind, a fallen stanza

Lost to be found in a world without cares

Where the white pine grows

All the space shall it share

To pine away for the lover

Up the sierra bare

Hope you enjoyed reading, -elleseng