The Christmas Tree

The loft rests quiet and still in the night.

Boxes lay hushed and hidden out of sight.

Decorations sit, itching to return.

Patience is needed, waiting must be learned.


Summer rolls on slowly, bit by bit.

Ornaments become bored as they sit.

Dreaming of music and candles and bells,

They are craving those distinct Christmas smells.


As leaves begin to turn from green to gold, 

The trinkets transform from eager to bold.

Their porcelain hands reach for tinsel and twine.

Delicate tummies yearn for mince pies and wine.


And still the box lies, its contents untouched.

Toy soldiers find all the waiting too much.

Nutcracker retreats to his annual lair.

The absence of Christmas lingers in the air.


Then one afternoon when all hope seems lost,

Cardboard home opens and string is uncrossed.

Small hands slowly pull each one of them out.

Garlands and toys are thrown all about.


Again, they return to their spot on the tree.

Their faces aglow, overflowing with glee.

Finally, the angel is awoken at last.

Her eyelids are heavy from her sleep-filled fast.


Her eyes glance proudly over her pine needle town.

The air fills with hope and those familiar sounds.

By Hannah Cole, Year 9.

Photo by Evelyn on Unsplash

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