- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Strings, musings on - 2
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As a small child,
I watched the trees
being cut
a carpet of green needles
falling down
My dad said all the trees
were grown to be
cut for Christmas time
Homes, houses all lighted up
Trees were decorated
and Presents stacked
underneath
All tied up with gaily coloured
strings
I stopped and
wondered
Did this show what
Christmas was to be
Is this what He
wanted the world to do
Make a business of His birth
and of His death
I shrugged and wondered
Little child I was and then,
Then I spied My gifts there,
And forgot all in My
haste to break the
strings
and open the gifts
was I always a child?
- COMMENTS
