Young man, old man

In February’s frozen spring
I came across a curious thing-
a solitary sapling in the sun.

It looked as if ’twere shivering,
with papered leaves a-quivering,
and the wind imparted voices to each one.

I thought its spindly arms were bare
until I heard the chattering there
and spied the little curlicues of brown.

And thought- so many made it through
the winter’s blast, the icy blue,
and held on fast to make their chittering sound

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