December 17, 1996|By Joyce S. Brown

We consider hanging lights

and decorations

on our ficus tree this year;

no children will be here --

they're over 30; they all work,

and Christmas comes

midweek. The pricetag on one Douglas fir

astounds us annually,

especially when, New Year's Day,

we toss it out,

long after it has dropped

its load of needles on our floor.


It seems we just packed

all the ornaments away and sang

the Wassail and God Rest Ye.

But Joy to the World, we sing

in the car on the way to the lot where

a scout troop is selling fir trees.

Pub Date: 12/17/96

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