unceremoniously discarded by the roadside
conifers cast aside with
season's cheer and a chill in the air
and as I drove past
the only guide, a set of headlights
I wondered- when does room at the inn run out?
what price must be paid for new life?
And there in rings as bright as day
like stars traced out across the sky
the stumps answered in
a chilled chorus of Hallelujah:
Keep your gifts.
It takes a life.
To make a manger...
to take the journey.