The year is fading out, they say,
itís old and cold, its sun has set;
but must it leave and go away?
I am not finished with it yet!
A new yearís coming, nails and screws;
all we can do is wait and see
if it can fill the old oneís shoes,
if it will smile on you and me.
We watch it rise from far away
with so much bustle, noise and steam;
the future seems to dip and sway Ė
will it be nightmare, or a dream?
Itís rattling in, itís coming fast,
all veiled in sparks and roll of drums;
come, hold my hand; itís here at last,
let us enjoy whatever comes.
Itís kind of scary, like a maze,
inscrutable, and cloudy too;
it seems to wrap us in a haze:
oh, where am I? and where are you?
Itís rather strange and very big,
and what it hides I cannot see.
Iíll hold a green and leafy twig
of hazel, so youíll know itís me.
you have any comments on this poem, Jane RÝken would be
pleased to hear from you.