RUNNER UP

I was once a small fir-tree,
That every winter I had, I was never bought.
People came every Christmas to pick their tree,
But out of all of them, they never picked me!

Through that I was glad,
For maybe next winter, somebody could be my next “dad”.
But no as it seems,
Nobody picked me again, this isn’t my dream.

Every December morning, I started to grow,
Started getting stronger than before.
When I grew more bigger, I still didn’t get bought,
And I realized why I am not pure!

No rich colours in my soul,
I felt like a piece of paper burning on the stove.
Can I show my talent to those more than that?
No! Still I am bored.

A few years went by, and I had grown,
My dream hath come true – that is known!
Then one day for the Christmas Lighting,
I was picked and shone, like an angel is mighting!