The Norway pines troop in single file,
Standing tall in solemn silence.
Sunlight filters through leafy fringes
To touch the meadow floor.
They command a quiet reverence
That no one else can claim.
These red pines saw the settlers arrive,
Weathered the storms of the Civil War,
And watched a nation find its feet.
The red-barked Pinus resinosa
Seem as ancient as history itself.
They stand beside their neighbors—
Sturdy oaks and restless poplars—
In this, the Great Pine sanctuary.
The blue glass of Lake Itasca
Mirrors the grove in the twilight,
As the Mississippi rushes from its headwaters
Toward a distant, sun-drenched shore,
Emptying into a southern Gulf
Where no pine has ever gone.
