Rehoming A Tree (Poetry)

The very last one
spindly — hardly grown
looking as forlorn
as a fir tree can
near to closing time

We took pity on
this poor specimen
haggled with the man
got it for a song
traded with goodwill

Though dwarfed in our hall
and small for its pot
bedecked with ribbons
it perked up a lot
and seemed quite at home

Its crowning glory
perched there on top
tradition’s angel
come down from our loft
with baubles and stars

That thin forest waif
had twelve magic days
of Christmas indoors
then Dad’s garden spade
made room by our shed