Carefully
We take them out;
They have been stored For months
In boxes
Under the stairs
In the garage
Or in our closets.
One by one
We put them
Onto their place.
Some are new
They don�t strike up
Fond memories
But the old ones
Bring out stories
Of years gone by.
And after hours
We finish
Telling our tales
And filling the tree
So we walk away
One more year
To talk about
In years to come.