Our Christmas Tree
Daddy took me to the forest
for our Christmas tree today,
he said that we’d enjoy it
and we’d hardly have to pay.
We were wearing scarves and mittens,
all our very warmest clothes,
but our cheeks soon looked like cherries
and our fingers nearly froze.
We hunted through the forest
for a tree that was just right,
by the time we finally found one
we were both an awful sight,
I was shivering and shaking,
Daddy shook and shivered too,
I was colder than an iceberg,
Daddy’s face was turning blue.
Daddy finally chopped that tree down,
but the way he did was dumb,
when it fell, it knocked him backwards
and he cut his nose and thumb,
Daddy also sprained his shoulder,
banged an elbow, scraped a knee,
as I helped him up he muttered,
“Son! Next year we’ll buy our tree.”
Jack Prelutsky (b. 1940)
Astute readers may have noticed that yesterday's and today's poems have the same name, though beyond that they have very little in common. I'm amused to see that on this date three years ago I posted a poem by William Blake, who is well known for writing deeply dissimilar poems that shared a name. Compare, for example, his poem “Holy Thursday” from Songs of Innocence with his poem of the same name from Songs of Experience. Thus was it demonstrated that I am easily amused.
Previous Advent posts:
