On San Gabriel Mountain slope Dry of summer, to your favor Wet of winter, to your demise Beyond your ecologic range At the edge of your existence You compete and sometime win Over manzanita, pine, and sage To your credit, a treat you offer To thirsty hikers who pay your price But around your sweet and juicy fruit A wicked fence of needles I cannot blame one so defended Can't find words to preach for change Or advise you to become unoffensive Like the smooth and tender plum Your disposition rejects most folks They see your thorns and walk away But a more delicious conversation I can't remember Than with you, my friend Your thorns removed Your soul revealed