It seems a pity that the Christmas tree
Grows and grows all its life
Into this splendid, treasured thing
Chosen for its beauty on a cheery Saturday
Filled with cocoa and carols
And then lifted onto the family car
Driven with great ceremony to a new home
Decorated with gold and lights and funny little ornaments
Only to be stripped
Of its dressings
Left without light
And thrown out on the side of the road
For an unceremonious delivery
To a forgotten place
See, if I was a Christmas tree
I’d prefer to grow up in the center of the home
Little and scrawny at first
But at least cared for as a tree,
For who I am and not for what I symbolize
But then someday I would grow tall
Tall enough to hit the roof
And then grow right through it
Weaving my branches through the slats and melding with the floor
And everyone would know my house as the place where the tree lives
Not a place where decoration makes me special
But a place where my roots mean I belong