An evergreen is freighted with
A wealth of gem-resplendent snow,
And sways its burden with the winds
That coldly come and fiercely go.
While here within, another tree
Is trimmed by children, laughing, gay,
And wears a rigid smile in death
To find the role a tree must play.
A tree that night the Christ was born
Cried out, “A cross? God–not of me!”
Then, softly–back in character-“
Yes, God, if that’s my destiny.”
by Ray Romine Monday, November 26, 1945
