I wrote this poem for a card I'm giving my mom, dad and gram.
From the cabin, march below
in the deep white snow
to the once poppy covered fields;
position your saw; see what yields
for it's Christmas time, let's go!
If the branches hang too low,
kneel down and begin sawing so;
and use its warmth as a shield,
in the deep snow of the Christmas field.
But what's that, behold and lo,
hot chocolate in hand, surprise grows;
the layers of bark revealed,
height above the clouds sealed.
at Christmastime in the field.