I saw a man who stood alone
Before a sparkling Christmas tree,
As though his inmost thoughts had flown
On fleetest wings of memory.
To where, perhaps, tall evergreens
Point toward a sunset-painted dome,
In once familiar hills of home.
Or else, perchance, his fancy strayed
to Yule-tide seasons long before:
Such pictures as can never fade,
Treasured in Memory's golden store.
..... . .....
But soon I heard him mutter, "what the deuce!
Is this darn thing a hemlock or a spruce?"
Alton A. Lindsey,
Summer of 1933.