Each Christmas the coniferous trees
Bedecked in their fir finery
on hill or home ~
While the Ash turn ashen in their nudity
The Maple exposed, stands frigidly
No adornment covering in the leafless breeze.
But the stately Spruce and Pine
Shine like the star, spangled
Dispelling darkness ~
Lighting hearts, untangled
Awaiting Christmas bliss
We knowledge our need for this.