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This poem is taken from PN Review 36, Volume 10 Number 4, March - April 1984.

Trees Alison Brackenbury
We are past the Christmas trees, in their wide windows
hung with lights, like fruit. They shine all day.
We have watched the fields, where the moon is rising:
smudged, solemn mouth. Above us, white stars grow:
huge and bare, spread over earth:
a tree of light, a tree of snow.
...


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