Pine Tree Song by Marjorie Barrows Christmas poem

Little pines upon the hill,

Sleeping in the moonlight still,

Are you dreaming now of me

Who bloomed into a Christmas tree?

Baby moons of gold and red

Cuddle close beside my head;

In my tangled leaves a string

Of fairy stars are glimmering;

While my arms, for girls and boys,

Blossom with a hundred toys.

O, little pines, it's fun to live

To be a Christmas tree — and give.