Picking out the Christmas Tree A Memory – Poem

I like to think back with fond memories of my childhood, of my past Christmas experiences living in Manhattan in the forties.

My memories are like seeing through a looking glass, not so much into the future, but more into the past.

One fond memory I like to recall is” Picking out the Christmas Tree and why it means so much to me?  I think because it was time spent with family.

I’m transported into my old neighborhood, It’s the 23rd of December, a bitter cold snowy winter day.

Mama, my two brothers, and I  are walking on the Avenue to a parking lot, for a very special reason,

To pick out our Christmas tree,

Like we did every season.

Their were rows, upon rows of Christmas trees,

Tall ones, and small ones, and ones we could not afford.

Which one should we pick I thought?

One was more beautiful than the other.

But which one to pick was not up to me

That task belonged to my brothers.

Mama said “Because the boys must carry the tree up three flights of stairs,

The choice cannot be mine, or yours,

The choice must be theirs.”

I knew that the tree they would pick, would be finer than the others,

Because, after all, it was being picked by my brothers.

I looked closer at the trees, and they never smelled, or looked lovelier,

With their leaves blanketed with snowflakes, majestic, and white.

I don’t think I ever remembered a more beautiful sight.

I couldn’t help noticing that people around us seemed happier than ever,

In spite of the wet, cold, and snowy weather.

And why wouldn’t they be?

It was such a fun time for Mama, my brothers, and me.

It was time to go home, we finally found the most perfect tree.

At least it seemed that way to me.

Mama, my brothers, and I, did not do many things together,

But picking out the Christmas Tree, will be a memory,

I will cherish forever.