He tweaks his branches, poised to flee
and, flopping like a fish,
the Christmas tree, a-shushing all
the ornamental bells
within his stand in quiet wiggles
strains to break his cell.
‘Tis midnight, and the clock a-ticking
warns him of the people’s sleep,
but does not tell
of snowy swells
that hint at his defeat.
He strains within his foliage
and his umbrageous eyes
detect the night outside his lights
and bells — the story goes —
he hopped right outside of his stand
(in past tense now, you know)
and fled the scene to fly, be free,
but tripped upon his toes.
He made it out! He did indeed!
But yet, the story goes:
the Christmas tree’s — a tragedy,
for the snow was deep outside
and though his bells were shushed
and quite the opposite of loud,
he picked a time when ‘spite the night
his audience was a crowd.
The children’s peeping window-eyes
just could not sleep that night,
and Santa’s reindeer, looking down,
just could not miss the sight.
So heinous and unfortunate, the Christmas tree
to be — or perhaps not to be —
incapable of thought.
For as the clock struck one-past-twelve,
and everyone in shock,
he stopped midway his frantic dance,
just halfway down the block!
The reindeer and the children both
crept out to check his health.
The tree was fine, though less alive
than he had been before.
Then Tommy, creeping up to him,
he swore he heard him snore!
We can’t deny what we don’t know,
so I suppose it’s true.
Whatever be the case, come Christmas morn
some were confused
to how a Christmas tree so fine,
a tree so richly dressed,
could be outside so beggarishly
in snow and cold and wet.
The parents talked of burglary and such,
but there is much
to be denied by such a boring, grown-up tale.
If this be true, announced the reindeer,
then Jonah ate the whale!
Written April 2013, Emma Dumitra.
Image from http://www.hellocrazy.com.