I'm leaving work much earlier today
My wife called and gave the grievous news
It's my little boy, my inquisitive lad
His curiosity had gotten too loose

It's the Christmas tree, most likely the new,
The one that took a year of savings to buy
Our son, she said, had altered the Christmas tree
My little angel of a boy, oh why?

Poor Christmas tree, I fear the sight
The Christmas ball switched to pieces of chess
The light modified to spaghetti strips
My savings worth had become a hideous mess

With shoes as hanging decors, and the branches cut,
And the yellow star tainted with black and white paint
No wonder my wife relayed in a calmly voice when,
She mentioned he had used every single kind of paint

In front of the house, I open the door
Time for me to see the turmoils of war
"Where is it?", I ask, with a tear dropping out.
What could a six year old boy do at his age so far?

"Oh honey, you came home early!", she exclaimed
Is she ready to see her grown husband faint?
"Our son, changed the Christmas tree, like I said."
"Well of course, I only let him use MS paint."