Boxing Day

Well, I tried. I Googled "Boxing Day Poems" and came up with some of the worst poems I've read in a long time. It doesn't seem to be a day that inspires. It's not even a day anybody outside of the shrinking British Empire knows anything about.

I actually am filling boxes of things for the poor - my poor daughter, who just moved out and has still to collect an Armageddon's worth of flotsam and jetsam.

This is, actually, the best of the lot. Of the poems, I mean. Just this side of doggerel, and it doesn't quite scan, but some nice images that seem to fit the days just the other side of Christmas and this side of the New Year. Something tells me he lives someplace with Celsius thermometers. Maybe Australia.

On Boxing Day

The temperatures in the mid twenties the sun is glowing in the blue sky
White butterflies dance in the sunlight as around the flower beds they do fly
A beautiful day in December the sparrows chirp under the house eaves
With a pleasant exotic aroma in the scent from the peppercorn leaves
Boxing Day the day after Christmas at the park tables people drink and eat
It is a day when friends and families gather in the parkland to meet
Coming up to New Year after Christmas at year end they do celebrate
The shake hands the hugs and the laughter at a time when one meets a mate
A beautiful day for a picnic of sunshine and a gentle breeze
The weather temperature going by the forecast a high of 26 degrees
The laughter echo in the parkland off of the Main street of the town
Of children enjoying themselves greatly as they chase the football up and down
On Boxing Day the day after Christmas birds whistle and sing on the trees
And families and friends drink and eat in the Townpark and recall their year's memories.

Francis Duggan