The Tree

The time had come around again it was time to get our tree
In the car we piled us boys, my sister on mum's knee
Out into the country, dad drove for miles and miles
When at last he found the place, we could not contain our smiles

Dad headed to the tall pine trees, his sharpest axe in hand Dutiful behind him trailed his merry little band
At last he spied the one he sought, a sapling straight and tall
"This will please your mum" he said, indeed it pleased us all

With swift clean strokes he had in no time cut it down We placed the tree atop the car and headed back to town
The decorating of the tree this year would be supervised by Mum
The final piece, "The Angel" would be placed by the youngest one

This year my baby brother would be helped by sis and me But as we lifted baby up we tripped and fell into the tree
Tangled in the trimmings we rode the tree as down it came
Mid tears and cries right through the lounge room windowpane

I carried on tradition with my children every year But when it came to "Angel" time up came a nagging fear Of breaking glass and angels wings and the message that it sent
To place my tree in a great big pot in reinforced cement!

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