
Looking sickly pale,
slender bones, brittling in cold;
the flu gets trees, too.

Looking sickly pale,
slender bones, brittling in cold;
the flu gets trees, too.

Enduring mother:
gathering leaves, harmless seems,
til she avenges.

Give me a garden;
trees branching out to heavens,
I will grow in peace.

As the winter gums
brave the weather’s vagaries,
good friends have your back.

Clear skies, green signals,
bare streets, waiting horizons,
prepare to take off.