In Slick Creek lay an uprooted sycamore With little or no chance at life. Found and saved by a canoeing gardener Who hoped to end it's strife. The little tree regained it's vigor, oh! And grew all summer in a pot Till winter, then planted on the Little Blanco. With hope and luck it's in a better spot. It grew and grew and filled with awe All the creatures who came near. All the people who came and saw. Stayed in it's shade and drank some beer.