old elm we named you the Sentinel Tree
high upon the Flint Hills peak
stood winter winds and summers bleak
that did not rip your branches free
there came last night an icy spit
that laid a burden too great to bear
of sculptured glass and crystal glare
and weighted you until you split
the coyote wails of your demise
by sorrow moon and faint starlight
his refuge friend in black of night
no longer there at this sunrise
my young father once sat in view
full of fire and fresh romance
and asked his bride to take a chance
on time and trees that shelter you
— William J. Karnowski
The Coop: A Poetry Cooperative 
Thank you for the lovely stitches that connect that most visible Flint Hills vision to its cold demise and linked it to your father’s romantic fire that inevitably brought you to this time and poem.
I certainly appreciate the rhyming in this poem being something of a purist, and I am particularly smitten with poems involving trees. An excellent effort on the author’s part.