When winter’s gray is on the sky,
Rust upon the leaves that lie,
Red on the last few berries clinging,
Brown on the branch where the bitter wind’s singing—
Even when white obscures the scene,
Still, in winter, there is green.   

Waving defiant pine tree boughs,
Cedar needles, stubborn and proud,
Hiding inside the seeds of summer,
And deep in the root where it sleeps under cover—
Patiently waiting there unseen,
In the winter, there is green.

Death may raise its voice today;
O, but Life will have its say,
Speaking in lovers and in children,
In poets’ pens and philosophers’ visions.
Life is a planet’s daring dream:
Earth’s devotion, spoken in green.

So keep it in your winter store,
Hang its garland ’round the door,
Grant to your heart its hopeful promise,
Fashion a wreath for its blessing upon us.
Winter brings browns and grays indeed;
But when it comes, remember green.
