MY OLD HICKORY POEM (Carya Glabra)
Awkward arching gray-grained trunk,
bent to the whims of nature,
bearing nuts for squirrels,
and leaves that float in a breeze
of golden rain at Christmastime,
covering the deck like snow.
Wood like iron but soft to the touch,
for a tool handle, or a wagon spoke.
The Hickory, tree of reckoning.
By J French