One far off eve, when I am ridiculously rich,
With oodles of ballrooms to spare,
My Christmas tree shall center the room,
With pretty ornaments every which-where

But today, well, this isn’t the case,
And square footage comes with a fee,
So I push those branches into a corner,
And hang…certain…ornaments on the back of the tree

I wouldn’t keep them, of course, if I didn’t have
On some level a bond, a fond feeling,
But, aesthetics, aesthetics, judging books and covers
I could say I didn’t care – but then, I’d be dreaming

So my one-year-old bear, with the pacifier,
And that red-headed angel who’s lacking in grace,
They both reside on the back of the tree
Doing their part, filling in empty space

With them are the globes with the gingerbread men,
Which I don’t like as much as the floral ones,
And a draping lace fan that’s been misshapen
But whose part in my tree isn’t quite done

And there, at the top back, high, near the star
A smiling bear once of no value to me
But when he cracked, Mom glued him together
And though I put him at the back, it’s where I just see

So, though I have ballrooms and parlors to spare,
The angel and gingerbreads will not go away
And there, very high, at the top of one tree
That bear, still smiling, will likewise stay

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