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No. 61 (December 1967)
– 17 –


Your twisted trunk stands
naked to the wind and sun,
And His sweet body too
knew shameful elevation.
Your tortured branches
and His outstretched arms
Speak agony of hours.
Your roots hump out
as did His feet
In sudden awkward spasm;
and for you both,
Pohutukawa and the Man
your final glory,
of the Christmas story,
Lies in scarlet flowers.

Fay Clayton.