Twas The Day After Christmas

Twas the day after Christmas and Father was ill,
It wasn’t the food, it was thoughts of the bill

Twas the day after Christmas and Father was ill,

It wasn’t the food, it was thoughts of the bill:

Dear Mother was happy, she got her mink,

But Father was not, he was too numb to think.


The presents were open, on the floor were the wraps,

The tots’ scattered toys were like small booby traps.

A roller skate here, a doll over there,

Covered the carpet that once had been bare.


The Spirit of Christmas, which had made the house gay,

Was now tucked away for some future day.

It was Boxing Day here, and in other homes too,

The Day after Christmas, when you feel kind of blue.


This feeling is caused by a number of reasons,

But mostly from drinks that cheered on the season.

The Toms and the Jerrys were all so delicious,

But the headache this morning was still kind of vicious.


Then suddenly without warning, the phone in the hall,

Started ringing so loudly it nearly fell off the wall.

“Hello, this is Mable”, the cheery voice said,

“Don’t tell me you folks are still in bed.”


“Be bright and be cheerful,”  she said, “and happy and gay,

It’s not really so bad, you’ll live through the day.”

So the family arose, though they still felt sleepy,

They looked at the house, it seemed lonely and creepy.

The frame of the turkey was still on the table,

And breakfast was eaten by those who were able.

The children started playing with the toy model train

While Father tried curing the gnawing head pain.


Then all of a sudden, with a clatter and clamor,

The old man hit the floor like a 10-pound sledge hammer,

He moaned and he groaned and favored his hip,

And cursed the new skate on which he did slip.


Mother was crying as if the world would end,

She remembered some cards she’d forgotten to send:

And the baby was crying and howling for food,

The whole family was in a terrible mood.


But soon all was peaceful and quiet and placid,

As if the young baby had swallowed some acid,

And Father was reasoning a little more clearly,

The family knew the day would end cheerly.


Very quickly the house was all swept and all cleaned,

The tots and their Mother in their new clothes preened.

And Father was feeling quite chipper and merry,

As he had refilled his glass with a new Tom and Jerry.


Come Mother, come Daughter, come Son and come all,

He shouted aloud – his voice rang through the hall.

The day after Christmas is not for mourning,

Be jolly and gay, this Boxing Day morning.


Marg. Anderson