'Twas Two Weeks After Christmas

'Twas two weeks after Christmas when all through the house,
Not a twinkle light twinkled to the joy of my spouse.
The stockings were nestled all back in their crates
Along with the snow globes and fancy red plates.

The ham, long since finished, the soup from it, too.
The yams were delicious, but those days are through.
The fire'd gone cold, having not one more log.
And the fridge was entirely void of egg nog.

The paper 'twas crinkled and thrown in the trash.
The bows piled high for the children to smash.
A plain silver tack was all that remained
In the place on the wall 'twhere the mistletoe hanged.

The poinsettia was dropping one leaf at a time.
It's depressing to see it as bare as a vine.
So to the back porch that plant had to go,
In hopes that no neighbor would see it like so.

The tree, it was gone, and the ornaments, too.
The needles turned brown, not much I could do.
With one kid in tears it was dragged to the curb,
"To cut down a tree for a month is absurd!"

The children were sent back to school on Tuesday, 

The toys, long forgotten. The bill, on the way. 

Their rooms are still messy with nowhere to sit

With all those new toys like that model car kit. 

My house now feels empty and quiet and cold.
"You should be happy." To myself, I do scold.
But, alas, I'm all misty and just have to say
A year 'til next Christmas seems a long way away.