On the horizon they stand,
Tops pointed like
arrows to the sky,
Fir trees of deepest
green,
Silhouetted in the
gray mist.
Deciduous bare
branches,
Curve and arch
upward,
Devoid of leaves, and
yet,
Alive and strong
within.
In a world neither
black or white,
Can I borrow from
their life,
Summon courage to point
skyward,
And stand against
the gray?
