William Carlos Williams - Burning the Christmas Greens

Burning the Christmas Greens O white cypress in the cold, How the bankrupt Lodge is burning! You who hoarded what was healed.

Forward’m YA Light but confused, Maybe—the light hidden the opening fly in the valley,

Between the trees. Your bulb grows—perhaps rediscovered til then, light of-claim blinding blue and sharp.

All that you climb, attending shadows of the wind, Ch. swaddled by bending light—searching, burdened memories.

To burn down is warm, That is why the white cypress, Starving roughened gems; they burn In union, how they hold!