Sparkling gems of glass ornaments.
Boxes in the attic stashed away.
Unwinding the lights.
Oh, wise men.
The saddest day in January.
The naked house now empty.
The attic is now full, but the house is empty.
They once were dangling, and now they are supine ornaments.
The ending in the beginning of January.
The tree once so lush is now stashed away.
The carved wise men.
Unraveling of the twinkly lights.
The house borders once rimmed with lights.
White walls and dinner tables now empty.
The generosity is now forgotten of the wise men.
The memories faded by the homemade ornaments.
Boxes of tinsel and tiny tree candles stashed away.
The dreary month of January.
The start to the end of January.
No shine now in the lights.
The golden deer stashed away.
The nativity now empty.
Safely nestled ornaments.
On a dark shelf in the attic stand ready are the wise men.
Myrrh perfume bottles and wise men.
The rhythm of every January.
The dark ornaments.
The unplugged lights.
The mantle cleared of sprigs of hollow now empty.
The golden candles burned to nubs now stashed away.
The tree skirt fluffed and stashed away.
The sleeping wise men.
The windows of wreaths now empty.
The let down on this day in January.
The burned out lights.
The orbed ornaments.
All the decorations stashed away in January.
The prized wise men now are not set off by lights.
The naked house is empty and the tree is dead without ornaments.