Standing in perfect majesty with arms spread wide;
I, in my lot,
At the top of the rise.
You admire my beauty, my boughs, my scent.
You trudge through the snow looking for the perfect one of me.
Your children squeal with delight as you set your saw to my trunk.
Your tools grind through my tough body.
My bark, evolved for protection from animals, elements
Falls away at the touch of your blade. I didn't evolve enough to be protected from you.
Your offspring's shouts of joy herald my fall.
With a great crash I land where others before, unknown to me, have fallen.
Dragged 'cross the ground, your kill.
Tossed into your vehicle, your prize.
Propped in your great room,
Strung with lights;
Adorned with baubles.
How you love the scent of my needles;
How you swell with pride as you gaze upon me.
How much happiness I give your family as you cleverly tuck packages in among my weary arms.
Now unadorned, naked and tired
I am manhandled down from my pedestal.
Such a shameful sight I am now that my needles have fallen away;
Now that my limbs are browned with age;
Now that the spirit has passed.
Dumped unceremoniously at the edge of your lot;
Rejected and neglected in my rotten state.
I am no longer your perfect symbol of joy; no longer the shining light upon the faces of your children.
Now I am simply dead wood, to be disposed of.