Bruce the Spruce was a Christmas tree;
he lived on Christmas Farm.
Each night he dreamed that he could bring
cheer into someones home.
He stretched his branches every day
and squeezed his needles tight,
so he could be a perfect tree
for holding Christmas lights.
Every year at Christmas time
Bruce did as he was taught.
He showed all of his Christmas charm,
hoping he would be bought.
The people came from miles around
to buy their Christmas Trees.
They pulled and tugged at branches
and gave the twigs a squeeze.
They looked for trees just the right size,
with needles that would stay,
trees that gave a Christmas smell
to brighten Christmas day.
Bruce was a perfect Christmas tree;
the children seemed to love him.
But Bruce was small and other trees
still towered high above him.
The years went by and Bruce the Spruce
eventually grew tall.
His branches spread and held their form;
they didn't droop at all.
But there were many Christmas Trees
that grew on Christmas Farm
and no one ever seemed to pick out Bruce,
with all his charm.
Bruce grew so sad as years went by;
it seemed he'd grown too tall.
It seemed that he would never be
a Christmas tree at all.
When the new families came each year
to buy trees for their home,
they never looked at Bruce the Spruce;
he stood there all alone.
Bruce never forgot Christmas;
it brightened all his dreams.
Yet, in the light of each new day,
he lost his Christmas schemes.
One day a truck came to the farm;
men came with saws and rope.
They came to cut the tallest tree;
Bruce finally lost all hope.
"My time has come; Ive grown too old,"
his arms trembled in fear.
"I'm only good for firewood now;
I've seen my final year."
They cut him down and tied him to
the flatbed truck they brought.
They drove away, while Bruce the Spruce
lie weeping on the truck.
Bruce closed his eyes and fell asleep;
he dreamed of silent nights,
of children's smiling faces,
of gifts and colored lights.
When Bruce awoke He couldn't hold
back all of his delight.
Bruce couldn't believe what he saw;
his branches all had lights.
His arms were filled with tinsel.
Children were gathered round.
Everyone was cheering
and laughing on the ground.
Bruce looked around in ecstasy;
he couldn't help but stare.
Bruce had become the Christmas tree
that now adorned Times Square.
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 11:18 PM UTC
Bruce the Spruce was a Christmas tree;
he lived on Christmas Farm.
Each night he dreamed that he could bring
cheer into someones home.
He stretched his branches every day
and squeezed his needles tight,
so he could be a perfect tree
for holding Christmas lights.
Every year at Christmas time
Bruce did as he was taught.
He showed all of his Christmas charm,
hoping he would be bought.
The people came from miles around
to buy their Christmas Trees.
They pulled and tugged at branches
and gave the twigs a squeeze.
They looked for trees just the right size,
with needles that would stay,
trees that gave a Christmas smell
to brighten Christmas day.
Bruce was a perfect Christmas tree;
the children seemed to love him.
But Bruce was small and other trees
still towered high above him.
The years went by and Bruce the Spruce
eventually grew tall.
His branches spread and held their form;
they didn't droop at all.
But there were many Christmas Trees
that grew on Christmas Farm
and no one ever seemed to pick out Bruce,
with all his charm.
Bruce grew so sad as years went by;
it seemed he'd grown too tall.
It seemed that he would never be
a Christmas tree at all.
When the new families came each year
to buy trees for their home,
they never looked at Bruce the Spruce;
he stood there all alone.
Bruce never forgot Christmas;
it brightened all his dreams.
Yet, in the light of each new day,
he lost his Christmas schemes.
One day a truck came to the farm;
men came with saws and rope.
They came to cut the tallest tree;
Bruce finally lost all hope.
"My time has come; Ive grown too old,"
his arms trembled in fear.
"I'm only good for firewood now;
I've seen my final year."
They cut him down and tied him to
the flatbed truck they brought.
They drove away, while Bruce the Spruce
lie weeping on the truck.
Bruce closed his eyes and fell asleep;
he dreamed of silent nights,
of children's smiling faces,
of gifts and colored lights.
When Bruce awoke He couldn't hold
back all of his delight.
Bruce couldn't believe what he saw;
his branches all had lights.
His arms were filled with tinsel.
Children were gathered round.
Everyone was cheering
and laughing on the ground.
Bruce looked around in ecstasy;
he couldn't help but stare.
Bruce had become the Christmas tree
that now adorned Times Square.
copyright by By Londis Carpenter
all rights reservrd