Here I stand alone, 
they call me Cypress, Lone,
Granite hillside off pebble beach, every lens I reach;
Surviving after scarred by fire, 
held with cable for 50 years, 
On the edge I stand here,
for over 250 years;
Seen and photographed by many,
I keep growing happy,
Between pacific grove and pebble beach,
out to the sea I reach;
Only if there were plenty, 
Here alone we grow and not many,
See you again till next time,
Here I stand till end of time.