The old oak sat upon the ground
Brown leaves ascending to its crown
Where dark green leaves in bushy sprigs
Balled waxy midst the brittle twigs.

Close by the grey-trunked holly mean
Sharp pointed leaves of deepest green
Scraped branches ‘gainst a breath of wind
December day when devil grinned.

The Christmas rose appeared ‘mong such
Its spindly stalks did not seem much
Its white buds lost in snow aplenty
I stopped to count and there found twenty.

O life within! No one can measure
The petals tight—life’s future treasure
Under the sun yet to unfurl
And blossom with a beauty curl.

‘Pon the holly popped berries red
Blood gathered from the young now dead
With twisted hearts we cry out why?
The universe has no reply.

Blackest gloom descends to Earth
It is the time of sun dearth
From the sky the angels’ tears
Made us realize our worst fears.

From this evil there is no buffer
Always, always the innocent suffer
We mourn and grieve the latest shoot
Our tears to water the holly’s root.

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