I wish that I could help to trim the tree;
They all are in the parlor, ‘ceptin’ me.
I watch the light that skims along the floor
When they are walking past the locked-up door.
Of course I’ll see it all trimmed nice and done,
But I believe the trimming’s lots of fun.
Earl says his mother never locks him out,
But lets him wind the tinsel things about
And makes the smelly hemlock branches shine—
His presents never cost so much as mine.
But he threads popped-out kernels on a string,
And takes a hand in almost everything.
The present for his mother he can choose
All by himself; when Auntie chose the shoes
She had me buy for mother, I’d a sight
Rather have got the fan that, fluffy, white,
Showed in the window—but Aunt Erma smiled
And said, “No; get these shoes, you foolish child.”
She marked them, too, with mother’s name and mine
On a red card, and said, “Now, that is fine—
A useful present for a boy to buy!”
I’d like to hang them there myself, but I
Won’t see the tree till everything is hung.
Earl told me that his mother often sung
Old Christmas carols while they trimmed the tree.
I wish there was someone to sing with me,
Or read, or something, while I’m here alone;
It seems the longest night that I have known
Since they went in and shut the door behind.
At Earl’s, the windows haven’t got a blind,
And anyone can stand outside and see
Earl and his mother while they trim the tree.
But here, outside, ’tis all shut up and dark;
I cannot hear, although I hark and hark
For what they’re saying. When I’m big, you’ll see—
My little boy shall help to trim the tree.
