Paper Chains Poem by Francie Lynch

That first Christmas,
We cut four branches,
Under the clouds,
From the three pines
On the other side
Of the backyard hedge.
If I went there today,
I'd see the nubs.
The pail full of sand
Came from Daddy's
Circle of cement making.
We firmly planted
The four branches
And wrapped them
With newpaper chains,
Made with the extra paper
From the morning's route.
That night, the moon streamed
Through the bay window
Like a spotlight on our tree.
In later years,
We'd buy trees from the market,
Roped with twinkling lights
We plugged in.
Daddy never bought a gift or a card
For anyone's special day;
But Canada was his re-gift, annually.
This Christmas, the full moon
Will stream again,
And I will tell
My grand-daughter all about
Paper chains.