Three Trees

The poplar is a French tree, A tall and laughing wench tree, A slender tree, a tender tree, That whispers to the rain⁠— An easy, breezy flapper tree, A lithe and blithe and dapper tree, A girl of trees, a pearl of trees, Beside the shallow Aisne. The oak is a British tree, And not at all a skittish tree; A rough tree, a tough tree, A knotty tree to bruise; A drives-his-roots-in-deep tree, A mighty tree, a blighty tree, A tree of stubborn thews. The pine tree is our own tree, A grown tree, a cone tree, The tree to face a bitter wind, The tree for mast and spar⁠— A mounting tree, a fine tree, A fragrant turpentine tree, A limber tree, a timber tree, And resinous with tar!