Like film in reverse
We pluck decorations from green, plastic branches,
Bright baubles, bells, wooden stars.
Coils of tinsel and lights lay
Unravelled on the floor,
At ease after standing guard for twelve long days.
Fake leaves and twigs are tucked away for another year,
Stored to sleep throughout the summer,
Until Christmas creeps in once again.
Writing about not writing
6 days ago