Beside the stream grows Grandma's tree.
T'was planted in her memory
on churchyard lawn in early spring
while sisters in the choir did sing
that Sunday in two thousand three.

My father chose a hickory.
"Will be real tall," he said to me.
"You'll see someday a wondrous thing."
Thus grows my Grandma's tree

In fall when winds blow wickedly
a shagbark's leaves turn lemony.
Then winter storms come clobbering
and strip it bare as birds take wing.
When spring returns, I say with glee,
"There grows my Grandma's tree."