When Mother Trimmed the Tree
As Christmas time comes around once more, always so it seems,
I find I'm living once again in the shadow of my dreams,
Remembering when as a child we had such joy to see
Early Christmas morning the way Mother trimmed the tree.
Though it had not brilliant baubles or tinsel hanging there,
Little cut out stars from school had been placed with loving care,
And tiny cotton snowballs were tied to please a whim.
It mattered not how tired she was when she had a tree to trim.
We never stopped to wonder why Santa liked the rich kids more,
The thing we got for Christmas was the gift we'd want for sure.
The important thing about it, or so it seemed to me,
Was to find that he had left it there, underneath the tree.
Now I am a child no more and have travelled through the land.
I've seen so many Christmas trees decked out in splendour grand,
But their coloured lights and candles were somehow sort of dimmed
By the love that had come shining through on the tree my Mother trimmed.
