Twelfth night

They got here, finally,
today, the Magi, weary.
Looked round the place,
and rolled their eyes.
 
First they lifted down
the star above the door,
switched off the lights,
boxed the silvered pine cones,
heaped up the wilting branches.
 
Removed the cards, the wishes,
the shiny things in trees, dry holly,
the glints in corners
which turned out to be
paper stuck to sellotape.
 
They found a list still on the bench
   6 oranges
   6 lemons
   30g cinnamon
      by 2.15pm

Embarrassing,
that urgency
of before.
 
They gave us salve,
some smelly stuff, a bit of cash
then left. We heard their voices
singing in our ears, saying
that this was all folly.