yesterday, while driving to and fro I saw many trees strapped to many tops of cars. i remember this, remember the excitement and the smell and the bristle tough touch of the fir. now we have fake firs and candles to fool ourselves into thinking the something is as real as the other. its not.
i thought of this poem and thought i would share....
little tree by e e cummings
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower
who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away
see i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly
i will kiss your cool bard
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don’t be afraid
look the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,
put up your little arms
and I’ll give them all to you to hold
every finger shall have its ring
and there won’t be a single place dark or unhappy
then when you’re quite dressed
you’ll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they’ll stare!
Oh but you’ll be proud
and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we’ll dance and sing
"little tree" was originally published in The Dial Vol. LXVIII, No. 1 (Jan. 1920).