Consortium of Hags (Against Christmas Trees)
The consortium of hags, unofficially anointed,
their frowns set stern, ugly and pointed,
They tug on the arms of a small, green tree,
cut from the meadow – no longer free.
Grey rags draped over bodies, shrunken complexions,
for each action suggested, a thousand rejections.
They bicker for hours, then start to yell,
Why all the noise? No one can tell.
The shrill voices and anger, with no end in sight,
the little green pine wished no part in such fight.
Its kin in the meadow, others kept warm with light,
But this event? It’s just not right!
Its options curtailed, only one left to take,
the little green tree, opted to shake.
By the time it was done, its needles down on the floor,
the old hags shrugged, and showed it the door.
Out in the snow it now stands bare and cold,
happy at last – Its sad story told.
