Don'T Chop Green Trees!

. . 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!