In wild of north, in cold, alone,
On bare peak pine stands,
Rocking in slumber and the snow
It shrouds in priestly vest.

It stands and dreams: in desert far,
On land where sun is hot,
Alone and sad on cliff up high
A beauty palm tree grows.


Cliff

A golden cloudlet passed the night
On breast of giant cliff,
In early morn she roamed blue sky
In playful childish glee.

But dampish trace was left in fold
Of old cliff. He, a lonely soul,
Stands on his own absorbed in thought
And softly cries in desert hot.