A poem to think about, while I take a holiday break:
Christmas Tree Lots
Christmas trees lined like war refugees,
a fallen army made to stand in their greens.
Cut down at the foot, on their last leg,
they pull themselves up, arms raised.
We drop them like wood;
tied, they are driven through the streets,
dragged through the door, cornered
in a room, given a single blanket,
only water to drink, surrounded by joy.
Forced to wear a gaudy gold star,
to surrender their pride,
they do their best to look alive.
From Volume 179, Number 3, December 2001
Copyright © The Poetry Foundation
I like the melancholy woven through the personification of the trees, and the way we, like the trees, do our best to soldier on through times that aren’t always so jolly. My holidays have been lovely thus far, and I hope yours are too.
