The end of the fir tree’s tale

The next morning,

The fir tree waited

To be decorated,

But it was dragged to the attic,

Amongst trunks and boxes,

With rats and mice for company.

At first, the mice were friendly,

Scurrying in and out of its branches,

Listening to its stories.

But eventually, they disappeared

And the tree was all alone.

Until, one morning, servants came

And carried it out to where

It could feel fresh air

And the first rays of the sun;

See roses, fresh and fragrant.

The blossom on the linden

And swallows overhead.

The fir tree rejoiced and spread its branches wide,

Withered and yellow from being inside,

The Christmas star still shimmering and golden.

A child spotted the star, clambered up

And plucked it from the top.

Then a servant chopped the tree into little pieces

And lit them under a copper cauldron.

Oh how the fir tree flared and sighed,

Snapped and crackled,

While it remembered summer days

And winter nights in the forest,

And the excitement and splendour

Of Christmas Eve.

Before long,

The tree was gone,

And all that was left was the star.

The Fir Tree Stave 4