Your Christmas Fir
Your Christmas fir was small and new,
When planted in the ground for you;
Once potbound, then its roots were free.
You stroked its branches, cuddled me:
I thought it felt like déjà vu.
I watched it as it slowly grew,
Though evergreen, its air was blue,
Not happy as it used to be,
Your Christmas fir.
Your love was dying, yes, I knew,
But what was I supposed to do?
Each time we fought, so sad to see,
All seemed reflected in the tree;
It turned to brown when we were through,
Your Christmas fir.
*The fir I'd planted started off well, but soon looked sorry for itself, and died after the relationship ended
Copyright © Jack Horne | Year Posted 2011
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