Three trees low

All night , women would make puddings
And  the manger resonated with mother,
A breastful of milk ,a virgin’s kiss for son.

The wind would moan in three trees low
On the hill , in the bleak midwinter snow.
Water turned stone as winter would blow.

(Remembering Christina Rossetti’s Christmas poem “In the Bleak Midwinter” and T. S . Eliot’ s poem Journey of the Magi)

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