Finding Our Tree Poem by Steven Shoemaker

We walk the rows of silent trees,
some smell of resin, some of lime
or lemon- six varieties.
Young families rush, we take our time,

enjoy the shades of green, the feel
of needles, sharp or soft into
our mittens. We will cut the real
tree with the saw, then shake a few

brown needles to the frozen ground.
At home the Christmas tree will light
the room and spread love all around
to neighbors who will catch the sight

of the one tree that spoke to you
and said, 'It is for you I grew.'