A Christmas Poem
Dec 28, 2023 by Tempe Javitz
Christmas Memories
One of my treasured memories
Of many years ago,
Was tree hunting with my father,
Through the cold Montana snow.
It’s not what city folks do,
Choosing a tree from a lot.
We scrambled into a pickup,
A neighbors’ pasture we sought.
Though warm and cozy inside the cab,
It was gray and cold without,
We drove many miles of countryside
Before reaching the perfect spot.
Our drive took us out of mountains
To gentle hills where cedars grow.
A landscape dotted in sage
With starched and glistening snow
Comparing height, width and boughs,
We trudged through draws and hollows.
Prickly branches slapped our face
As we sawed the trunks down low.
Our boots squeaked in the icy grass,
As we dragged the cedars along,
Back to a cold pickup, over a ridge,
Humming a Christmas song.
Three trees in all with extra boughs
Crowded the pickup bed.
In spite of stiff, cold fingers
We were thinking of lunch instead.
A few swift hours of a wintry day
Like a painting frozen in time
A childhood memory never forgot
Spelled out for you in rhyme
The years go by and life quickly changes,
But these memories never fade,
The crisp winter mornings shared with love,
Of such wonderment Christmas is made.
By Tempe Javitz, 2001
One of my treasured memories
Of many years ago,
Was tree hunting with my father,
Through the cold Montana snow.
It’s not what city folks do,
Choosing a tree from a lot.
We scrambled into a pickup,
A neighbors’ pasture we sought.
Though warm and cozy inside the cab,
It was gray and cold without,
We drove many miles of countryside
Before reaching the perfect spot.
Our drive took us out of mountains
To gentle hills where cedars grow.
A landscape dotted in sage
With starched and glistening snow
Comparing height, width and boughs,
We trudged through draws and hollows.
Prickly branches slapped our face
As we sawed the trunks down low.
Our boots squeaked in the icy grass,
As we dragged the cedars along,
Back to a cold pickup, over a ridge,
Humming a Christmas song.
Three trees in all with extra boughs
Crowded the pickup bed.
In spite of stiff, cold fingers
We were thinking of lunch instead.
A few swift hours of a wintry day
Like a painting frozen in time
A childhood memory never forgot
Spelled out for you in rhyme
The years go by and life quickly changes,
But these memories never fade,
The crisp winter mornings shared with love,
Of such wonderment Christmas is made.
By Tempe Javitz, 2001
