The Aspen
Lonely aspen rising high
Straight and true you greet the eye.
Bent by every passing breeze
Weakest, slenderest of trees;
Yet what grace, what stateliness
Every leaf and twig express!
Brittle limbs of little worth,
How from out thy meager girth
May we fashion wood for use?
What may be the frail excuse
For thy lovely shaft of green
On the verge of my ravine?
But the aspen, wise and shy
Never deigned to make reply.
Swayed to every wandering air
Shed its beauty everywhere,
Till its friendly dignity
Made its message clear to me.
God designed thee, aspen slim
Who am I to question Him?
In the mighty scheme of things
You and I play minor strings
Yet your part has been well done
Mine is only half begun!