And finding it wanting in final test?

It is the childhood's pap on which I choke

And sputter rebuttal that lays to rest

The loveliness of your imagined trees.

Bare branches, skeletal against winter's sky

Impending death to any soul who sees

Yet dares to dream of spring when birds will fly,

Finding home and shelter in those myriad leaves.

Bah! Birds desert and seek the southern star

The moment autumn's remnants clog the eaves,

But after months of birdshit on my car.

A rose is a rose, the sun is yellow.

Keep your pines and oaks: I'll take Longfellow.