From the ground up,
My tree is always,
A sight to see.
***
There is the tinsel,
Wrapped round,
With the bobbles,
Poking through,
Some of glass,
Some ceramic,
And some only held together by glue.
***
But half way up,
There is one sight to see,
The handmade decoration,
Made when I was three.
***
Mum insisted it was kept,
But you see,
I think it looks sloppy,
And “not like me”,
But tradition is tradition,
And now it hangs firm,
Below the other pieces of tinsel
And fir,
***
At the top sits a fairy,
A star was too mainstream,
And up underneath her,
One of the fairy lights gleam,
It glistens through her dress,
For all to see,
But it is probably most uncomfortable,
For that little fairy.
©The Pesky Poet
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