Six feet up,
dead at the first fall,
yet stood tall
dead in a living room
draped in tinsel,
an evergreen was.
Across the wooden floor
the power cord did run
to give the tree a special glow.
But thrice my young feet
tripped over the electrical umbilical cord,
and thrice more the timber fell
creating discord.
Of all my travels
across the living room floor,
the fir fell no more,
that is, until
the New Year's arrival.
With fewer needles
and some stray tinsel
of a year gone by,
so it went
out the door,
in fragrance fell
the fifth and final time,
from evergreen
to everbrown
six feet down.
