O Tanenbaum

O TANENBAUM!

Deep in the heart of the Black Forest of yore,
It is said, lived an arborist of legend'ry lore.
He grew trees of beauty and fullness renowned,
He sold Christmas trees to both wealth and to crown.

In his Bavarian village, he lived like a king.
Each December the townsfolk would gather and sing
In the little town common, right at Court Square,
And wait for Jurgen VonStrassbourg to arrive & declare,

“Gather ‘round all, and partake of some ale;
This year’s good tree I wish to unveil.”
And gaiety and merriment would absolutely ensue
Once the stout little German put his magnum opus on view.

But once, there was a girl of a curious bent,
Who needed to know just where everything went:
The reasons, the whys, the who fors, and how comes;
Her inquisitive nature would vacuum up clues like food crumbs.

She followed Herr Jurgen back to his home habitat.
A trespass most-certain, but felt guiltless for that.
She spied and she snooped, poked around quite a bit,
And covered the grounds that were dark – unmoonlit.

She discovered, by chance, a nursery kept
At the back of the lot, with none to protect
An eight year-old girl with eyes that would roam,
And uncover the secrets of the great tree-grower’s home.

Young Ingrid, she knew, that to grow a good plant,
One needed the best fertilizer to provide nourishment.
So she followed VonStrassbourg to the depths of his cellar,
Bringing pencil & pad, like a good little scholar.

She wrote down his actions, quotations and more…
She took notes most thorough, behind those closed doors.
Then Jurgen, he donned an apron of leather,
While Ingrid breathed not, lest she tumbled a feather.

He ground a concoction of wondrous parts:
Of ferns, petals, manure, and artichoke hearts.
He ground it completely and mixed it up fast.
He worked up a sweat, until he spoke out, “At last!”

Ingrid, she jumped and knocked over a tin,
And Jurgen turned ‘round with a devilish grin.
“One final ingredient will make it complete;
I just need the blood of little girl meat!”