I don't pretend to be a poet. I'm more of a poetic prose kind of girl. However, this poem won me 100 bucks two years ago, so I'm reposting it.
(Just don't sing it to the tune of "Oh, Christmas Tree," because it doesn't work.)
Oh, Christmas Tree. Oh, Christmas Tree.
How lovely are your branches.
My little son pulls you down
In ornamental avalanches.
The fat little Santa from my first year
The bulb from my great-grandma
Are crushed and how I long to cry
With loud holiday drama.
The next morning, though, I awake
With sweet anticipation.
The art of cookies must be passed
Down to the next generation.
Hours later I emerge
Sticky and flour-y and sick,
And decide that perhaps next year
A bakery might just do the trick.
I decide to go and Christmas shop.
My babysitter bails.
We scuttle from the mall
Amid toddler tantrums, screams, and wails.
We escape the mall as fast as I,
My bags, and child are able.
I decide we need to spend some time
With the baby in the stable.
In awe I lead him by the hand
To gaze with reverence at the manger.
I do not know that holy child
Is cloaked in mortal danger.
The baby curled up in the hay
Looks like a soft, fun ball.
In horror I watch as with delight
Jack hurls him down the hall.
I could give you cookie crumbles
Or a half-wrapped Christmas gift,
But instead let’s think about
How my priorities need to shift.
So I will wrap up for you
Some faith, family, hope, and joy.
These gifts will last much longer
Than a transient Christmas toy.