Tree-son

Ridiculous though it may sound, I was really sad last year to see a local Christmas tree slumped on the corner of the road, void of all decoration. This was the very tree that I had walked past on my way to work and whose bright lights had kept me going in the frantic run up to Christmas. There is something so spiritual about trees and, at the risk once again of sounding like a raging hippie, I felt guilty that it had been the victim of our manmade pleasure!

Elegy to a Christmas Tree

Sad, tall, tree, I smart to see you

wilting, tilting towards the ground.

Like a lost puppy. All out of place.

Trees are for life, not just for Christmas!

Abandoned now that the glitter of festivities are packed away

Prised from your roots for our passing pleasure

No return poor victim of our festive destruction!

Your once healthy leaves limp like ageing hands

There in the village square where last month

you were lit up like a prize trophy

I want to take you home and feed you up

Apologise for the limitations of our so called logic

Robots know no better dear Christmas tree

It hurts to see your dark green head hanging low, fading for all to see.

You who are the very air we breathe.