Each year, after Thanksgiving
Down the pebbled trail she’d go
To find the fondest thing living
Nestled ‘neath the winter snow
A sight like nothing other
That the world could ever see
Brought her closer to her brother
And holiday memories.

For many seasons of tradition
Just her brother and she
Embarked on this very mission
To locate the perfect tree
But this time, alone, she traveled
With her brother, miles away
Keeping peace where calm unraveled
On the arid, desert clay.

As she strolled along the trailway
Near the icy river bend
She saw a sight that still to this day
Seems too much to comprehend
Every tree was neatly banded
In ribbons tied with golden bows
Just as if God had commanded
Peace for all who fight our foes.

That year, no trees were chosen
From the trail, deep in the wood
And although, the ground was frozen
The bold point was understood
While we think of our brave loved ones
Howe’er great the distance seems
We know they will be home for Christmas
If only in our dreams.

© 2005 – Jill Eisnaugle’s Poetry Collection