In this bright room <br />the tree stands, raw, <br />naked, the winter chill <br />breathing from its branches. <br /> <br />Its branches still are dark, <br />folded, not quite unfurled <br />from the cocoon in which <br />we brought it home. <br /> <br />We shall tame this tree <br />festoon it with tinsel <br />and galaxies of stars; <br />and like a ritual offering <br />load it with the burden of our past.<br /><br />Janice Windle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seasonal-poems-sacrifice/
