Once every year we happily,
Explore the attic and retrieve,
The dressings for our Christmas tree,
As we festoon its boughs and leaves,
With ornaments and artifacts,
Collected over time and stored,
All bric-a-brac which harkens back,
To times remembered and adored,
Bright points of life, lit on display,
That tell of ages come and gone,
Like trees, so we shall wilt away,
But through these trinkets linger on.
