The twelfth of December, the tree stands tall,  
Its lights aglow, they dazzle all.  
Each ornament, a story told,  
Of Christmas past and memories old.  
A glassy bell, a golden star,  
The glitter spreads both near and far.  
A child hangs up a handmade wreath,  
With careful hands and joy beneath.  
The piney scent, so sharp, so clear,  
It marks the magic drawing near.  
We gather ‘round, we laugh, we share,  
The love that makes a home so fair.  
For trees don’t simply shine with light,  
They hold our hearts on winter nights.  
On the twelfth day, we pause to see,  
The joy that lives on every tree.