Happy New Years

The boy hung up the calendar anew,
The beautiful, blank, clean and hopeful view,
Like newly-fallen snow upon the ground
Hardened by winter but now newly crowned.
And now it’s hung he stares a moment glad
At all the days, at all immune from bad,
From sadness, from gray and from cruelty,
From hard waves fire-lashing at their sea.
He touches then the pages still to come
In the calendar thick and full and young,
And smiles at them, smiles at the world,
At how all it will finally do is twirl
And dance and sing and laugh and talk and be,
Its locksmith finally shaping new its key.
Because he saw them all, smiling and warm
Through the coldness of the winter’s morn
Moments ago, so that he felt them still,
Singing one to another, free in will –
Auld lang syne, let the best go by again,
Around, around, in circles birthed as kin.
Then in a moment, or maybe a few,
The calendar flipped rapidly all through
And its marks, wrinkles, frowns and tears returned,
Mixed with the good – sustenance warm but burned –
Until again it reached its thinning end,
Its threshold to the past’s encompassed pen.
So the boy hung the next year’s calendar
And gently heard its untouched pages stir,
And thought the thoughts he’d thought a year before,
But thought them stronger, fuller, deeper, more.


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