I spend all my time in summer
dancing in the trees.
When autumn comes I build a home
from falling golden leaves.
Then winter frost brings icicles
to decorate my home,
and snow that covers doorways
to protect me from the cold.
I just get well adjusted
and no longer feel the chill,
when I’m taken from my comfort.
Snatched against my will.
They take me to their home
where everything is cosy
and put me up to top a tree.
I’m flushed, my cheeks are rosy.
There’s nothing comfortable at all
up where the candle flickers,
sitting here all Christmas long
with a fir tree up my knickers.
Elaine Morris (c) December 2014