Window Tree

The day before the snow in Iowa, we sat at our breakfast table and watched this beautiful
Bradford pear tree toss and turn in the restless wind.  I was reminded of the Robert Frost
poem:

    Tree at my window, window tree,
    My sash is lowered when night comes on;
    But let there never be curtain drawn
    Between you and me. . .

   Vague dream-head lifted out of ground,
    And thing most diffuse to cloud,
    Not all your light tongues talking aloud
    Could be profound.

    But tree, I have seen you taken and tossed,
    And if you have seen me when I slept, 
    You have seen me when I was taken and swept,
    And all but lost.

    That day she put our heads together,
    Fate had her imagination about her,
    Your head so much concerned with outer,
     Mine with inner weather.