Reality

Here in the real world,

It’s too busy for Christmas,

Too busy for the Claus’s,

Mister and Missus.

 

Out here in the real world,

There’s money to make,

The world for us revolves around work,

And there’s no time to take,

Holiday breaks.

 

Here it is,

February now,

And I know it’s way past time,

But here in the real world,

I’m just now finding a minute,

To put pen to paper,

For a Christmassy rhyme.

 

Sugar cookies never did,

Go into the oven,

No stockings were hung,

Or carols sung,

Here in the real world,

It’s not important to build traditions,

For we are all on a mission,

That holidays don’t seem to fit in.

 

Seasonal frippery,

And packages full of mystery,

Under a flashy tree,

Aren’t part of the real world,

Here we barely notice,

That these things have come to be regarded,

As a great importance.

 

Here in the real world,

We’re generally busy,

With no spare time to prepare,

A monstrous feast,

So we gladly give a miss,

To the customary gathering,

Where anyway there is always,

Too much blabbering.

 

Out there in your world,

Christmas is a big priority,

And you view those over here,

As some kind of freak minority,

With kiddies to raise,

And memories to be made,

Presents must be present,

From wall to wall,

So you buy out the whole mall,

But here in the real world,

We have other things that please us,

And it’s not feasible,

To deal with such fuss.

 

 

 

 

 

Outstanding Ornament

Back in the 16th century,

These people in Germany,

Their unbusy minds,

Were a little bit loopy,

And so they thought up Me.

 

Me, the Christmas Tree,

The one small piece of forest,

That you enjoy making pretty.

 

For years I’ve been growing,

And I’m just the right size,

Now the ground’s frozen,

And I wait,

To be the one chosen.

 

Mistletoe is festive,

And wreaths can be splendid,

Various other evergreen trimmings,

They too have their place,

But the highest honor,

Is reserved for me,

Me, the Christmas Tree.

 

So many traditions include me,

No matter where you go,

It’s me you will see,

Me, the Christmas Tree.

 

I see a man he is coming,

Wielding saw and axe,

He is walking my way,

Oh please tell me that this is my day,

The day I get chosen.

 

Luck was with me,

I’m chosen,

It’s finally my turn,

Now my people make me pretty,

And I stand here,

As my branches are garnished,

Watching their fireplace burn.

 

It makes me happy to stand here,

Next to their fire,

Me tucked in this corner,

Makes the room feel more cozy and warmer.

 

Where I stand there’s a window,

Outside it is snowing,

Through it I see another,

Its branches a-glowing.

 

This time of year,

We are everywhere,

Some of us tall,

Others sort of small,

Of all the charming decorations,

Aren’t we the best of them all?