The day after a holiday is  

anticlimactic, 

All the promise gone, 

blown away on the breeze of 

yesterday,

Leaving  you with the faint sensation 

you’ve forgotten something,

That only half of the anticipated joy 

materialized.

You can’t quite put a finger on what  

The missing piece is,

Only that it’s gone, 

scampered away like mice 

Who clean up the crumbs 

Another holiday gone, 

work looms, 

beckoning, 

Reminding you what reality is

But it’s the rare occasion that 

matters,

Continually drawing us back,

Reminding us to live, 

break bread 

and drink with our loved ones

The day is fleeting,

But memories live on,

Safe in the memory vault to 

examine 

at leisure