This tree once spread its verdant wings
In sanctuary for our play,
The harbinger of youthful spring
With memories now frozen, splayed
In branches cracking to their core
Beneath a sky billowing grey
Like life, and winter, gone to war.
We wove those branches into art,
The tree that you and I adored,
But creeping ice has clutched its heart
And teaches us this eerie sound:
A child's house falling apart.
Where can the cold ruins be found?
Their shards will be my mournful throne,
And frosted leaves, my weeping crown.