Short Fir Poems
Short Fir Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Fir by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Fir by length and keyword.
On the tall table
Resides a small Christmas tree
With a Santa hat
When his eyes open to show
The vacant stare of plastic
scent of fir on breeze..
quiet rustle in bushes
rabbit blends with snow
snap of broken branch
snow drifts down to forest floor...
sleeping bear stretches
For Charles' haiku contest
Don’t you see,
A battle rages
Away above the grasses
The mighty trees throw spears of air
And bend to dodge the blades
Or cones where thrown by lordly pines
As cut by edges hewn like hands;
These lush and greening splays
Appendages of bows
The warriors, donned of moss and fir
Life can be challenging for a Douglas fir,
especially one who lives on a tree farm.
I’m surrounded by Grand firs and Balsams,
who, unlike me, can support heavy ornaments.
They sneer at me and chant “light weight!”
I see a little lady talking to the farm owner.
She comes straight~~Oh, she’s talking to me!
She wants a lovely, light-green, fragrant tree
for her huge collection of light-weight ornaments.
This is going to be a great Christmas for us.
Each of my limbs is meant for adorning
With beautiful lights and jolly decorations
Ribbons flow around me, never warning
This is the time when love touches in sensations
I still remember the joy of the squirrels and birds
When I lived in the forest, beside the oaks I love
For the ache in my heart, there are really no words
But I must sacrifice my quiet life for the One above
He is worth more than many of my green hands
I am only one of this Jesus’ many fans!
I watch the clouds
Curling in the sky
Taking on new shapes
Reflecting on my eyes.
I smile, feel the wind,
pass on through me,
It's gonna take me away
Carry me out to sea.
You're laying next to me,
You will not get up.
I sit and pet your hair,
Your eyes are shut.
I wish they would open
But you're far off gone.
I wish you could see this,
See my sweet song.
Maybe if it's loud,
And flys on up there,
Maybe you can hear it,
Where the angels sit and stare.
Snarled locks of black twisted fur
A fir away from where I stood
In the close air, it's stirring
No shelter from what's good
She looks to me with tired eyes
Inside are shades of countryside
The sand and rocks of which she spies
Into her, unto me, this world resides
What can one say to a wild thing?
Nothing is truly understood,
Yet we want for a song to sing,
Blurs the lines between bad and good
However close we're aiming to be
We can't be nearer to the meaning of free