Poem By Herbert Nehrlich
At five AM, last Saturday
we went to get a Christmas tree.
Out in the forest, with the Jeep,
the path was muddy, ruts were deep.
We'd brought a hatchet and a saw
the two of us, just me an Pa,
and when we found a specimen
tall and majestic like Big Ben
we hurried out into the snow
to wrap up this illegal show.
The noise was very faint at first
(and Pa was busy quenching thirst) ,
the window down, there was a noise,
it well could be the Council boys.
Though God has grown all trees for man
the council had imposed a ban.
I saw a glimpse of their big ute
and now the echo of Toot-Toot,
put her in gear while Pa held tight
the tree to keep it out of sight.
Accelerate a Five-Point-Seven
it's quite akin to life in Heaven.
The Rover followed, going fast
we wondered who would finish last.
There was the dropp and then the river
my Pa was drowning out the shiver
with Uncle Jack's from stainless flask
while I was busy with the task.
Straight in we went, the bank was steep
and to the bottom went our Jeep.
We drove for nearly one whole hour
and marvelled at those tons of power.
But there was one, though minor flaw
(and I agree here with my Pa) :
Our fancy and expensive stereo
which pipes in classics from Ontario
to me is part of life's conception,
it did not give us best reception!
(Though it returned when we emerged) ,
the sun had come since we submerged
and snow was falling in the hills
to hide the tracks of untold thrills.
In leisure we got home at ten
and never saw the council men.
We stayed indoors for two, three days
and placed the tree into its base,
when through the letterbox came in
the local rag to hit the bin.
But on the cover we could see
that thieves who stole a Christmas tree
had drowned and divers were on site.
They'd search each day until the night.