*
as 
a child
I read a
book about a sad 
fir tree who did not
change hue of leaf in fall
but kept its green twigs fresh:
so by mid-winter its joy-
*	value as living spirit of	*
the forest was acclaimed by the wood-
man, his wife and children (oh yes, them most!)
and they
all sang

© Kathy Labrum McVittie 5 December 2024

Written in response to a challenge from Laura of dVerse Poets. She asked that we include a seasonal fir tree (or suchlike) in a poem in which the syllables per line increase from one to ten, with optional doubles at the end to form the trunk. I added some twinkles too.