Ivy was pining. She longed fir a hollyday. She'd been stuck in the mud too long. Could she spruce herself up and board a plane to cedar world? Or take the elm of a clipper and find a distant beech. She hadn't lost her yewth, was quite poplar and maple still.
She thought of old ma hogany with the horse chest nut doing too well and syca more each day.
Yes winter is hard for trees. Will spring bring releaf?