The Back Streets on Boxing Day

The streets are empty of traffic; free parking spaces abound,
For on the day after Christmas there is hardly a soul around.
Most people seem to have vanished, to stay with family or friends,
Perhaps somewhere in the country, till the holiday period ends.
For there are few lights in the windows, except for the Christmas trees,
And maybe some bulbs on the fencing, which merrily sway in the breeze.
The houses are largely in darkness, no sign of life can be seen;
And black in the living-room corner's the ubiquitous t.v. screen.
Everything's quiet and peaceful; there's hardly a sound to be heard,
With less human talk on the pavements than the infrequent song of a bird.
The big shops may be busy, and the high street a bustling throng,
But here in the back streets it's empty, through it won't be like this for long.
For the holiday soon will be finished, which will be the signal for when
The people who live in the houses will all be returning again.