A titan of taiga, the Siberian fir,
Through boreal blasts it rises ever higher.
Reaching for sunlight, a hardy embrace,
Three thousand meters, its towering chase. 

Emerald needles, cloaking its sturdy frame,
Resin-kissed fragrance, a whisper of its name.
Balsamic comfort, in needles it hides,
Essential oils, where healing resides. 

Cone-shaped perfection, a crown reaching high,
Upright and proud, against the frozen sky.
Seeds with tiny wings, carried by the breeze,
Spreading life’s promise, through whispering trees. 

Sun-dappled shadows dance on its ancient bark,
A haven for creatures, leaving their mark.
From Siberian squirrel to majestic lynx,
A sheltering giant, where life interlinks. 

Through the harsh winter, its needles hold fast,
A symbol of resilience, a future that will last.
Siberian fir, a testament to time,
Whispers of the North, in its evergreen climb.