‘Twas the day after Christmas, the house in a jumble; not a creature was rested, exhaustion was double.
The stockings once hung with festive delight, now dangled all droopy, a bedraggled sight.
The children lay sprawled on the floor in a doze, surrounded by wreckage of presents and bows.
Wrapping paper shredded, like snow on the ground, boxes and ribbons all scattered around.
The scent of stale cookies and sweet pumpkin spice, hung in the air, not once, but thrice.
The ornaments shattered, a casualty so dire, as cats batted pieces, right into the fire.
The tree stood forlorn, without any glam, tinsel a casualty, a holiday jam.
The fire in the hearth, now a smoldering mess, the parents collapsed in a state of distress.
The table, once grand, with a feast full of cheer, now covered in remnants, a food graveyard, I fear.
The dishes all piled, a formidable task, a mountain of cleanup, an unenviable ask.
Yet through the fatigue and post-holiday blues, a laughter erupted, shared joy diffused.
For amidst the wreckage, love is still found, in the mess and the chaos, happiness abounds.
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