Friday 6 December 2019

Two Christmas Trees

by Sheila Barclay

Mulled Wine

Spruce fir tree
dark glossy green
stands stately in the forest scene,
dreaming of what might have been.
Snowy tips glisten in the starry night,
silver dollar moon bestowing winter light.
A Frosty breeze blows through the sky, and all the branches gently sigh.
They whisper, they murmur, then shake the snow free; a snowstorm of white in the cold arctic breeze.
Their roots sleep on
 frozen but still alive,
dreaming of new life
when Spring arrives

Spruce fir tree
drops his resin tears:
in this warm house he is so alone,
and sadly sobs for his lost forest home.
His roots cruelly chopped, his branches droop low,
needles heavy with baubles, flashing fairy lights aglow.
Small children adore his beauty so much, and smile as their fingers gently touch,
sweet faces reflected in the bright hanging balls that twirl and dance as more pine needles fall
Oh tinselled tawdriness
of this sad Christmas tree
who dreams of the forest
and what might have been

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