The littlest Christmas tree,
Lived in a meadow of green,
Among a family of tall evergreens.
He learned how to whisper
The evergreen song,
With the slightest of wind
That came gently along.
He watched as the birds,
Made a home out of twigs,
And couldn't wait till he too was big.
For all of the trees offered a home,
The maple, the pine, and the oak,
Who's so strong.
I hate being little, the little tree said,
I can't even turn colours,
Like the maple turns red,
I can't help the animals.
Like the mighty old oak,
He shelters them all
In his wide mighty cloak.
The older tree said,
Why little tree, you don't know,
The story of a mighty king,
From the land with no snow?
Little tree questioned,
A land with no snow?
Yes! said the old tree,
A very old story from so long ago.
A star appeared giving great light,
Over a manger on long winter's night.
A baby was born, a king of all kings,
And with him comes love over all things.
He lived in a country all covered in sand
And laid down his life to save all of man.
Little tree thought of the gift given by Him,
Then the big tree said with the happiest grin,
We're not just trees, but a reminder of that day,
There's a much bigger part, a role that we play.
For on Christmas Eve, my life I'll lay down,
In exchange for a happier, loving ground.
And as I stand dying, they'll adorn me in trim,
This all will be done in memory of Him.
Among a warm fire, with family and friends,
In the sweet songs of Christmas,
I'll find my great end.
Then ever so gently He'll come down to see,
And take me to heaven, Jesus and me.
So you see little tree,
We are not like the oak,
Who shelters all things beneath his great cloak.
Nor are we like the maple in fall,
Whose colours leave many standing in awe.
The gift that we give is ourselves,
Limb for limb,
The greatest of honour,
In memory or Him.
The little tree bowed his head down and cried,
And thought of the King who willingly died.
For what kind of gift can anyone give?
Than to lay down your life when you wanted to live.
A swelling of pride came over the tree,
Can all of this happen because of just me?
Can I really bring honour by adorning a home?
By reminding mankind that he's never alone?
With this thought little tree began singing with glee,
Happy and proud to be a true Christmas tree.
You can still hear them singing, even the smallest in height,
Singing of Christmas and that one holy night.
- Amy Peterson
