So many icy months did we prepare,
Protected under allied human’s hand.
Our flowers dormant hid, our branches bare,
Our roots clutched fiercely around crumbling land.

The day arrives to waken sleeping world
With shouts of color against fiery skies.
Our ranks seize the shore with blossoms unfurled,
Sweet vict’ry suckling on the warm sunrise.

The eagle, in his nest of our branches,
Beats his wing and rallies a second frost.
Our children fall as winter advances,
The next generation to suffer the cost.

Though pink has fallen, green clenches its fist,
And still, still we grow, in wreck of the freeze.
The war will turn course and spring will persist
If through the cruel cold, we care for the trees.