O' what sadness comes
with January.
After all the Christmas bells
have rung their final
tune
and New Year has been
cried with united hints
of regret,
a melancholy air
falls.

Maybe it is the perpetual
fear of man,
of beginnings
and the sense
of our winged lives
flying by while we pray
our oars will take us
somewhere brighter.

Or perhaps I am being
pseudo profound

Though don't you get
a summing sense of January
in the Christmas tree?

It leans bare, sadly against
your house while the
fairy lights
are packed away
into cardboard boxes