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When the Day Ends

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We know her only as the Christmas tree.
The one that decorates
and prepares, for the arrival of Santa Clause.
Go back to Fall; where the tears roll down blossomless cones.
‘Why do you cry?’ chirps a bird, ‘I cry because I am’ says she.
Once a beautiful nymph, now a flowerless tree.
Not her decision, but her escape from Pan.
‘I cry because I am plain, not even gifted with a single bloom, but armed with hard cones.
Cursed to shine only once a year, wretchedly long’s the year. And when that day ends… I die.‘





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