Chris Green's poem (included below) compares the Christmas trees to refugees or prisoners of war.

Christmas trees lined like war refugees, 
a fallen army made to stand in their greens. 
Cut down at the foot, on their last leg, 

they pull themselves up, arms raised. 
We drop them like wood; 
tied, they are driven through the streets, 

dragged through the door, cornered 
in a room, given a single blanket, 
only water to drink, surrounded by joy. 

Forced to wear a gaudy gold star, 
to surrender their pride, 
they do their best to look alive.