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