Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.
Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.
And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.
~ A E Housman
I’m not even utterly sure it is a cherry (the more horticulturally learned of you will be able to confirm) , and – whatever it is – it’s standing next to the barn, and that white she’s wearing will definitely not last until Eastertide, but I still find myself wandering around fervently declaiming a bit of The Shropshire Lad himself, Alfred Edward Housman.
I don’t know; it just feels right.
Union Homestead 
Such beauty quite naturally leads to poetic thoughts. As we would say in Maine, that is some tree.
The person who planted out our place knew a thing or two
A beautiful tree to inspire some poetic thoughts. You would be coming up to Easter if it was your time of year but in our hemisphere if you see what I mean. It does look like a cherry tree.
I do see what you mean. We’re well used to things being upsidedown – singing about chestnuts roasting and swapping cards depicting snowy scenes at Christmas, Easter celebrating newly hatched chickens when our flock is closing down production, and refusing to pay a king’s ransom for a pumpkin to be used as decoration. Our poor possible-cherry is wearing white just because she is and we appreciate her for it 😊
And as the songs says, “She wears it well.”
A little old fashioned, but thats alright 😁