He has the strength of an oak tree,
Yet like the willow, he can weep.
He is taller than a redwood,
And his roots go just as deep.

His scent is that of cedar,
He is straight as pine of white.
He is grand and he is golden,
Like a maple in autumn light.

He is stately as an elm tree,
Shading me from summer sun.
His whispers sough like pine boughs,
In evening breeze as day is done.

He shimmers like a poplar,
As morning light plays on the grass.
He’s the finest in the forest,
And a great piece of ash.