Look at the evergreen.
Surely it recognizes its cold, frosty surroundings,
But despite the current season, it appears unaffected.
Its green, waxy pines are celebrated as they pinch
Anyone that goes near.
Plugging away in the dead of winter,
While other foliage embrace the change.
Show their true colours in the fall,
Then lose their pride after the harvest.
They become naked.
Before even those who do not have eyes.
For they hear
Not the rustling of leaves,
But the scraping of branches.
Yet the evergreen sits in the warmth of company and gifts,
Gasping for breath,
While the others roast in the fire.
Because green wood is harder to burn.