Over the weekend, we noticed more and more vehicles hauling Christmas trees, as the transition began between Thanksgiving and Christmas. My wife and I have never spent Christmas at home and this year is no exception. As a result, we don’t put up a tree and decorating is limited to scattered knick-knacks including hand towels, napkins, Limoges boxes, ornaments, and wall hangings, Traditionally, we rotate the sign on our front door to match the season from Halloween to Thanksgiving to Christmas. This lets all the neighbors know that we are in the spirit. Today, my wife was asking where the “Joy” sign was being stored as she began to sort through our holiday decorations? I smiled and told her that I wrote a poem about it:

Joy

Any Christmas cheer,
I don’t mean to dash.
But Joy got thrown out,
With the trash.

It was just a metal sign,
To hang on our front door.
We bought it years ago,
At a local store.

The letters were in red,
Inside a painted wreath.
But it began to rust,
At first just underneath.

But as the years went on,
It spread beyond repair.
The cheer in its message,
Also began to wear.

To put it in the garbage,
Somehow wasn’t right.
It was a dreadful deed,
You had to do at night.

Wrapped it in a towel,
So it couldn’t be seen.
Thinking that The Grinch,
Was never this mean.

What monster discards Joy?
Who gets rid of glee?
If anyone asks?
It wasn’t me.

copyright 2018 johnstonwrites.com