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The Tree
Someone in a boardroom blueprinted that tree -
It was pink and polished, bristly and bright -
Yet there was something looked-for we failed to see,
So out we went searching before the night.
We must have pored through every single nook of those fields,
Trying in vain to race the sundown.
We at last gave up our cause, snow falling on windshields
As the traffic returned us to town.
Then a chance wrong turn, and what should we find
But a friendly farmer down to one pine, modest and slight.
"Whatever you have," he said. "I don't mind.
Even one this small a size deserves a little love, right?"
How misled we were in our search for perfection
Until fate pointed us in the right direction.
Now the door to our Christmas has found its key.
How lovely it is, and at long last. The Tree.
