When the Christmas Tree Comes Down

I find this time of year very melancholy. Years ago I wrote a two-verse poem trying to capture this melancholy, but I can only find one verse now:

The time is past for tinsel
The holly’s out of date
The clockwork Santa’s lost the will
To celebrate.
The workday world is rousing;
It hates a paper crown.
What’s left of the carousing
When the Christmas tree comes down?

I do remember that the second verse had one line that went something like: "The Three Kings have left town". 

I felt this especially at Epiphany Mass on Tuesday. Hearing the last Christmas carols of the season made me feel more than melancholy-- almost grief-stricken. I've never been able to get used to transience, and it bothers me more as I grow older. My least favourite word is "goodbye" (although I'll admit it's tremendously evocative in titles; Goodbye To All That, Goodbye Lenin, Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, etc.)

Admittedly some of the melancholy had other causes. Recently I've lost some friendships that I had hoped would be lifelong. Not through estrangement, or death, but circumstances. A longstanding group of which I was a happy member has broken up-- my Inklings, you might say. Still friends, but I don't expect I will see most of them often again-- if ever. A breaking of a fellowship.

(My hatred of transcience is one reason that I'll never stop writing this blog, until death or something else intervenes! I don't "do" endings-- if I can possibly help it.)