It stands in pride of place,

Green, tall, straight,

Yet only for a while.

Coloured lights flicker,

Dance mischievously,

Casting shadows on the walls.

The presents, wrapped with love,

Have long been opened,

And adored

On this January day,

Outside, the wind howls,

Rips across the bay.

The tree stands lonely now,

Ready to be undressed,

Cast off.

Its life brief,

It brought joy,

Now I am sad for it.

                                     _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Owain Glyn