Taking Christmas down

For me this Christmas past has been anything but Merrie. Picture me sitting, almost all the time by myself but  sometimes with glass in hand. Dreaming.

Hogmanay ditto, except in the aftermath when things brightened up for me considerably. Two lovely parties amongst folk I feel so comfortable with - and vice versa, I hope. When I was able temporarily to   forget the shadow beside me of she who has gone.

Anyway I looked in my files for something to blog and her it is.... 1991 would you believe! 

Taking Christmas down

We put it up with no problem at all
Bright green leaves fixed to old oak beams,
And the wreath we gladly hung in the hall
Out of wind, out of rain that outside teems,
Warmed by the fire we had our own ball

We drank to the health of every known one -
And to peace on earth, goodwill to all men
But, oh, when the feast and drinking is done,
We can feel the press of the world again,
And this taking it down is not so much fun.

They stared: “What a beautiful tree” they said,
And we looked with pride on our tinselled tower
A star-burst of baubles and lights - overhead
A fine fairie queen dispensing her power
Now all to be boxed, our tree dumped and dead.

What pleasure it was when each post arrived
Each envelope opened, pictures admired
Reading from whom with the card spread out wide
Then hanging our trophies, strings multi-tiered
They’re all in the bin and something has died.

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

Perhaps next year
We’ll just leave it here.

Bryan Islip
12th night: 1991

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