Stave 3
By Christmas,
The fir tree had grown
Into such a dark green tree,
It was first to be chopped down;
The axe bit deep and keen
And it toppled with a groan.
On a horse-drawn sleigh,
The tree was driven into town,
To a house where servants in livery
Carried it to an ornate room,
Filled with portraits and other finery,
And planted it a large wooden tub
Of sand and soil, tied with a red bow.
Oh, how the tree trembled with anticipation,
When servants and maids adorned
Its branches with all manner of decoration:
Gilded walnuts and silver apples;
Candy canes and baskets filled with sweets;
Wooden toys and hundreds of candles;
And on the topmost branch a star.
Tonight, they said, the tree will shine!
It couldn’t wait for eventide,
When the candles were lit,
A crowd of children rushed in
And danced around with glee.
It trembled in anxiety
As the candles burned
All the way to its boughs
And the children
Plundered the tree.
© Kim M. Russell, 2015
Image found on parabola.org
writing in north norfolk 