We began to pack in January,

Books and clothes and things.

February saw us taking

Down the shelves and things,

All the knick knacks, pictures frames,

And souvenirs from Spain.

In March we packed the linens, quilts,

And beds in which we’d lain.

By April, spring had blossomed, and

We still were packing stuff,

While we searched for cardboard boxes,

But never found enough.

By May, the blinds and drapes were packed,

And curtains all washed clean,

All the windows certainly

As spotless they have been.

We packed up cans of soup and juice,

And quarts of applesauce.

With June came summer and the thought

Of all the months we’ve lost.

With July, along came heat

And temps to lay one low.

All the summer clothes were packed

And where we did not know.

August brought some monsoon rains,

And I need not tell ya’

We had no clue where we should search

For boots or an umbrella.

With September, autumn came,

And still we were a-packin’

And in the empty rooms, sky-high,

The boxes were a-stackin’.

Not much is left–October came,

And all the leaves were falling;

And with November came the sound

Of someone, somewhere, bawling.

And now December–Christmastime,

And decorations hidden;

(We’ll skip the holidays this year,

To do as we are bidden.)

But hark! Here comes a brand new year

And with it comes the song,

Shouting like an auctioneer,



-Sandra Lee Smith, November 2008

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