Wednesday, 20 May 2009


The Christmas tree
Will carefully
Be lifted
With its glittered leaves
And tinsel still intact,
Taken to the little bedroom
And covered with a satin sheet
To wait for next year’s fizz.

Decorated by
My father some
Weeks before he
Left us and
Kept in reverend memory
Of his passing; a speck of
His endeavour every year
To remind us of his love.

But even as the
Years have
With no undue rub between
Them, we’ve still lost more
Baubles and bells than is healthy
On the journey to and from
The tomb we keep.

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