Sometimes
Time is measured
In Christmas decorations
Minute baubles and second
Sets of lights. A treefull.
Hours in attics reaching the
Back wall where the good stuff is.
Silver Birds in black tissue paper
not to be used. They were Nana’s.
The Crib in the cardboard held by
Five years’ sticky tape.
The old figures with the three legged
Donkey and the chewed-up
Baby Jesus in the manger.
Meg, had left her mark.
This yearly task,
The Getting Down,
The Putting Up,
The Taking Down,
The Putting Away Again
Flimsy boxes, treasured memories.
Sometimes
At The Putting Away,
Thoughts come unbidden
Of the next Getting Down.
Martin Swords 15 January 2008
Written at Vale de Pinta Lagoa Portugal
Martin Swords
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/some-times-6/
