Christmas Past Poem by Amy Sutton

Tinsel sags,
Needles litter the floor,
Shineless baubles
Come to rest
Behind the sofa.

Half-eaten mince pies
Are cleared mournfully away.
Laughing bright paper
Lies shredded on the floor.

Smiling cards
Blur with gathered dust.
Lights flicker feebly
To the rhythm of tired songs.

And the first brittle leaf
Breaks free of the withered mistletoe
And as it dives
Mockingly brushes
The young, hopeful lips,
Still waiting.