Twelth Night Soon

Taking Christmas down

We put it all up with no problem at all
Those bright spiny leaves fixed to old oak beams,
And the wreath that we gladly hung in the hall
Out of wind out of rain that outside teems
But now curled by the fire as we had our fill

We drank to the health of every one -
And to peace on earth goodwill towards men
And now when the feast and drinking is done,
And we feel the press of the world again,
This taking it down is not so much fun.

“What a beautiful tree,” they’d ritually said,
And we looked with pride on our tinselled tower
A star-burst of baubles and lights - overhead
A fine fairie queene dispensing her power
Soon all to be boxed, the tree dumped and dead.

What pleasure it was when each post arrived
Each envelope opened, each picture admired
Reading who from with the card spread wide
Then hanging our trophies from strings multi-tiered
But they’re in the bin and so something died.

Some echo of good sounds from distant past
Some simple utopian wish we all feel:
Beneath the tumultuous hard sales blast:
We all hear the voice, so clear and so real
And that’s why we need to make Christmas last.

Perhaps next year
We’ll choose to leave it here.

Bryan Islip

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