Where poetry hides for me...
We pull them out.
I manage to hang them evenly,
And perfectly spread apart,
Having years of practice gives me experience,
And knowledge about what I am doing.
They hide memories,
Lots of them,
Almost like Nut Clusters we eat on Christmas Eve.
They're the past 12 years of my life.
My first Christmas alive,
Our second Christmas together,
From my painstakingly done, yet sloppy Kindergarten projects,
To strange results of Saturday night boredom.
They sparkle, they shine,
All nice and neat in their lines.
And when we put them up, its a sign,
That Christmas is not far away.
Then, for a while,
in the box is where they will lay.
Little balls, long stringy tinsel.
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and even a pencil.
These are all of the things up on my tree,
Oh, it's such a pretty sight to see.