I have been writing poetry, fiction and short stories for many years and have completed a book of poems. I also enjoy comedy writing.
“Hello Mr. Fir. Why are you so sad?
Tis the season, you should be glad.”
“How can I be happy when I am about to die?
Don’t you see all the empty spaces in the soil my child?
These spaces are where my family used to be.
Now they have been cut down and all that is left is me.
Christmas to you means joy and fun.
But Christmas to us firs means our growing days are done.
The humans will come with axes and saws.
They will chop and cut and take us all.
Thy will carry our lifeless bodies back to their home.
And pin on us a star, a bell and a gnome.
Now here I stand in this field of my family souls
Waiting on the ax's first blow.
Bah humbug! I hate you Christmas time.
Because you destroy my family and others like my kind
Why do they need a tree inside their houses anyway?
Because as Christmas is done they will dump cut firs I say.
This is an awful and cruel act by humans to us poor little trees.
I beg them don’t cut, but they do as they please.
My cousin stood there, just six feet away.
He cried and then he died, then they threw him in a van and took him away
So you see, on the first day of Christmas, my true love has nothing to say to me
Because she too was cut down and killed, now I beg you, let me be.
Oh my God! look, a car just pulled in
I see a man staring at me with a jolly old grin
Run away my child, he has an ax in his hand and he is heading over.
In less that a minute my life will be over.
At least I will rest and be with my fallen family
Do firs go to that place, oh so heavenly?
The man then made a few chops and the fir tree fell
As the little girl cried and on the freezing ground her tears fell
She never knew how sad the trees were at Christmas time.
She vowed when she got older, never to have a Christmas tree inside.
Now the poor fir was gone, his roots soon to wither and die
As the little girl walked away with tears in her eyes.
© 2018 Clive Williams