You know, its beginning to look a lot like Christmas,
and a season of such strategic business.
Everywhere I go, a certain scene does show,
a scene of desire to fight ones way through.
An utterance to express, my pain of dismay,
of sorrowful scenes through such shades of grey.
Leaves from all branches do flicker and fall,
in a forceful breeze with a wave giving call.
The season of winter so cloudy and cold,
although intense tree trimming to be conducted so bold.
The period of pruning so to catch a day light,
from a tree of branches with a deep sense to fight.
Scenes of a tree growth that does show and remain,
whilst progress proceeds at all points to attain.
The branch to reach and so simply to rest,
the left or right foot or whichever fits best.
Ascending and descending so to fight to the future,
and simply reach the point, by chain saw or pruner.
Not to be disturbed, distracted or demented,
until through all steps, one is happy and contented.
Such a sense of stress and also such strain,
as the battle continues with cuttings to attain.
Through climbing in trees and feeling edgy and taut,
the war was to continue until all had been fought.
I stood in my lounge to express such a groan,
as signs of the season were shockingly shown.
A pitiless cloudburst of rain came to pass,
with such a severe sound as it hit all panes of glass.
Through heavy rain falling, there are soon signs in bud,
of water collecting and causing a flood.
The feel that so little will turn out well,
as dark clouds in the upper atmosphere dwell.
The winds of the changes do whisper in trees,
as deeper decisions through all trees seem to squeeze.
For evening nights were drawing in,
and further storms too were about to begin.
Was a storm of rain, and sounds of thunder too,
drifting away or lasting right through.
Trimming of shrubs and the cracking of trees,
Halleaujah had been brought to an ease.
As a rosy hew now settles all around,
you know, you begin to feel you’re on solid ground.