The Eastern Cottonwood has triangular leaves, a booming voice, crazy catkins, and a happy smile. In the freshness of spring it pelts the local rood with cottony fluff and direct emanation. When hungry it will lazily consume vast qualities with the sun's benny care. The cottonwood rarely takes sides but involves itself in proper community. It will seem like a stick in the mud come winter's frore blast but spring brings a seasoned boost that sends the tree a-singing for months of years and years of months. Remain secular as you approach cottonwood, let your toes be roots. Hold fast sans dogma and trite, as you caprice with cottonwood, the gods will gift you a scholarship of colloquy and flowing spin.
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