Ah, the joys of poetry club. Strictly speaking, I was supposed to be writing a totally different type of poem at the time, but I couldn't resist. My mom liked it until she found out I finished it during Calculus class!
Oh, and these are three different trees, not the same one.
O anorexic Christmas tree,
how threadbare are your branches.
O so-pathetic Christmas tree,
how threadbare are your branches.
The needle trail leads from the door,
Just string the lights along the floor.
O half-denuded Christmas tree,
how threadbare are your branches.
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
how lofty are your branches.
O giant mutant Christmas tree
how lofty are your branches.
Your pointed spire scrapes the roof,
Mom, think the tree is big enough?
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
how lofty are your branches.
O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
how spindly are your branches.
O little stunted Christmas tree,
how spindly are your branches.
Your boughs support so little weight,
And nothing will make you stand straight.
But Christmas tree, O Christmas tree,
how joyous are your branches.
mrgreen
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