On Leaving

On leaving Christmas presence in the air,
on holiday from work, or maybe not...
the spirit feels, as winter, cold and bare,
the body, now a temple sense forgot.
The reasons for the Christmas presents bought
are gone, like bows and papers, in a bag
somewhere behind a fence. The hearts besot*
with cheerfulness; with milk and honey, sag
from Christmas dark regret; to new years sulk and drag.