The Little Christmas Tree
The fallen tree lies on the ground,
It’s shaking fingers reaching all around,
Under its blanket of cold, frozen snow,
Is a crystal of ice, a tear caught in its flow.
Its poor broken limbs have been pulled from the soil,
But still its spirit and soul remain truly loyal,
It shudders as a badger cries for its den,
Creaks out a cry at the song of its wren.
Broken and beaten it lies in the cold,
Feeling lonely, abandoned and old,
In its hour of need along comes a man,
Who drags the poor tree as far as he can.
Into the warm to shake off the cold,
Making the tree feel a little more bold,
Slowly the tree is wrapped in its finest,
Praising the man as one of the kindest.
Proudly displayed for all men to see,
Is the little unfortunate cold Christmas tree.