Christmas Tree.
. . Oh!
I
Grew
Each year
A foot or two
Making Oxygen.
You sacrificed my life.
Chop! Chop! Chop! Chop!
Some siblings died, also. Every
Christmas, Buzz! Chain saw sounds.
Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! Buzz! Buzz.
It’s all for you, the timbre that sings each year.
Ever grew? Fragrance chopped at the age of new.
My mother matured for many years. My brothers, too
Straight, tall, scented, they stood. Shining with the sunlight.
Fragrant fields of furs and pines, oh, how numbers have declined.
Four. Six. Eight. Twenty feet tall, decorated, in someone’s house
Against the wall or in the center of a spacious hall, many trees down are we.
Don't
Chop.
Green trees!
Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2009
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment