The Birch

Under my own window White is birch's hue - Snowy blanket-shadow, Silver patterned too. On its fluffy branches With a snowy hem Tassels' blossom blanches - Fringe's icy gem. Standing, birch is yearning, Silent, sleepy spire, Falling snow is burning In its golden fire. Lazy dawn in wrinkles, Circling all around, Now its branches sprinkles - Newly silver-crowned.