THE LITTLEST TREE
Joyce Peterson
The littest tree stood on the lot, all alone.
The big trees had all been sold, they were gone,
To the houses in town, or the ones, on the hill.
But the littlest tree, overlooked, stood there still.
Big ones would be trimmed with ornaments, bright lights.
Tinsel would surround their limbs in the coming nights.
But the littlest tree felt the chill of a cold winter's snow,
As it wondered if there was somebody, anybody, to know
That ,trimmed with ornaments, tinsel and lights, it would be,
Though small, one of the glorious and wonderful sights to see.
The man in charge saw that no more buyers were left on the lot
He went toward the gate. "Might as well close up," the man thought.
But an old man in rags, pushing a cart, stopped him, before he could.
"Looks like you've got one more tree on your lot. It's still is made of wood,
Some of us could build a fire under the bridge to keep ourselves warm."
The other man nodded and said, "A fire under the bridge would do no harm.
And I've made enough money today. Go ahead, take the tree, build the fire."
The old man took the littlest tree and tied up its limbs with some left over wire.
The littlest tree had begun to shake when it heard that a fire would be its fate.
"Let's go, little tree," the old man said, "the gang might leave if we get there too late."
The old man whispered gently as he told the tree, "No fire for you. We have other plans.
We'll trim you with whatever we have, belt buckles, shoe laces, maybe old soda cans,
Bottle caps, soda straws, a paper made angel on top, just anything that comes our way.
This year, the gang will have our very own tree to celebrate Christ's Special Day."
A man
