The Tree Farm

christmas tree farm

My frozen breath parts

Without magic before me,

Spilling over my shoulders

As I walk.

I see rows upon rows

Of tree-children

Worshiping in this field.

They keep their lines straight–stretching

Up to the black ridge,

And down to the silent river.

Little faithful firs

Standing perfectly still,

Their green turned gray

By the moonless night.

I pause to watch them

Through my self-made cloud.

I see them all reaching up,

Their boughs wearing

Frosty white gloves

Inviting both stars and angels

To dance on their glistening fingertips.

They are Christmas trees in their souls.

 

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1 Response to The Tree Farm

  1. Susan Alkire says:

    Oh, I do love this one!! I have stood and watched this one many times as the branches are covered and not a soul stirred as I stood and looked at its beauty!!
    Love snowy, ice covered trees as long as the power is not out!! Yes, I’m spoiled that way

    Liked by 1 person

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