I’m not sure how it’s been so long
since Christmas, with its bracing chill
and muffled bursts of festive song
and colored lights on every sill
grabbed our attention, tooth and tong.
I'm loath to take the Christmas wreath
down from the bevelled glass front door;
But I must surely grit my teeth
Resolved to part with it before.
The trees have bluebells underneath
The needles falling out like hairs
suggest that I should daily sweep
and since I don't, they track upstairs
on soles of shoes, and then lodge deep
in other small surprising lairs.
And why am I so loath to shed
the season’s garb – to greet the spring?
Some neighbours do think ‘time to shred’
But maybe one or two can bring
a sympathetic thought instead:
She wants to slow the clock, poor thing,
in its relentless galloping . . .