There’s a fir in our front yard

that seems to never mind the cold.

And though the wind’s been blowing hard,

the roots have never failed to hold.

For all our years, I’ve watched it grow

– a taller, fuller, richer tree

expanding where the kids won’t mow –

but now there’s something else I see.

That thriving fir, that evergreen,

alive despite the blows of chance,

reflects our love: The storms we’ve seen

were too weak to thwart our great romance.

This root that holds us fast in strife

and nurtures us in sweeter times

is now my source of joy in life

and cause for these, my humble rhymes.