I am a tangle of barren branches drooping mournfully over the frozen ground.
My leaves left with the sunshine.
I am gray and cold.
And tangled.
My thoughts are a chaotic mess.
They curl around and clasp one another because they do not know how to be orderly.
They cannot stand up straight and tall in harmonious order.

Who can I speak to who will understand how I feel?
Who will want to know?
For the beautiful pine trees,
Whose leaves never fall,
Whose branches never tangle,
Always point straight up and never look down to see a broken stump like me.
They tower so high in their eternal majesty.

But I am only beautiful in summer.