With apologies to Robert Service

In northern climes we’ve seen strange times,
We’ve seen rain in December and worse.
We’ve got flat-landers and leaf peepers
And every other kind of curse.

The northern climes have seen strange times,
But the strangest that we ever do see,
Is when they drive up in droves –
From Boston, Cambridge and Lowell,
To purchase their Christmas trees.

There once was this guy who wanted to buy
The perfect yule tide tree.
So he got off at five and started to drive
North in his SUV.

Well, traffic was bad and with the time that he had
He surfed the internet on his cell.
And there in the sheen of the phone’s tiny screen
He found a web site with a tree to sell.

On the phone, some would say, isn’t the way
To drive your car in the snow.
And so happy was he at finding a tree
That right off the road he did go!

Well a perfect tree is a thing to see
And many there were online.
But under the load of the falling snow
A chill ran down that guy’s spine.

For there in the bank on the highway’s flank
Was no place to give up the ghost.
And a Christmas tree was still what he
Wanted the very most.

The snow and the wind did hammer at him
As he hoofed it up I-93.
The cold wind blew and he surely knew
That the chill would cash him in.

And around the next bend he would meet his end,
Frozen stiff as a board.
But then through the gloom of his icy doom
He suddenly shouted and roared,

“I just wanted to see my own Christmas tree,
“alight in my living room,
“I’d give up my car, health club, cell and Cuban cigar,
to escape this frozen doom.”

And then through the ice a beautiful sight
Did appear just as quick as could be.
And he ran off the road through snow’s heavy load,
Towards the lights of exit twenty three.

Well old Irving-mart looks pretty smart
In the white of the falling snow.
And he ran right inside to thaw out his hide
And maybe have a cup of Joe.

The locals stood about and he wanted to shout,
“My brother’s I’m on a heavenly trip!
“And open to me are the things only angels see!”
as his suit it started to drip.

But all he said as he turned his head
To take in the homely sight.
Was, “Does any one know where I might get a tow,”
“I guess I’ve had quite a fright.”

But then he did spy out of the corner of his eye
A tree beneath a small sign.
It was surely the last for many had passed
And not bought the little pine.

The sign was small but the writing tall
“From Burleigh Mountain,” there was writ.
And though many from town would have called it a “Charlie Brown,”
He knew that this one was it!

The fellow Harry and his son looked scary,
But they got him out of the ditch.
With chains and the tow they hauled through the snow
And only once said, “Sonamabitch!”

Well I’ll never know if that night in the snow,
Did change my friend very much.
He stills wears his suits and his phone it toots,
In the middle of Sunday brunch.

But this year he got free and drove I-93,
To a place he now knows well.
Where the road does end just around the bend,
And there are pine trees that they sell.

You or I might say on Christmas day,
The pine was not much to see.
But to him and to his it was a glorious gift,
And a perfect Christmas tree.

In northern climes we’ve seen strange times,
We’ve seen rain in December and worse.
We’ve got flat-landers and leaf peepers
And every other kind of curse.

Oh the northern climes have seen strange times,
But the strangest that we ever do see,
Is when they drive up in droves –
From Boston, Cambridge and Lowell,
To purchase their Christmas trees.