Gnarled and weather beaten I stand,
As tall and erect as I can muster,
The swirling winds, fiendish at hand,
Will change course, lack luster,
Obliged to bow to my steadfast will,
I heal; back to my bejewelled self, anon,
Adorned with green foliage, dressed to kill,
Laden with blossoms, enchanting, soon, a magical dawn.