Have you ever noticed how
around December time
the year becomes old, and
tatty around the edges.
It is written with reluctance.
It creeps around
hips creaking when it stands.
It drinks a dozen cups of coffee
each day of December,
to keep it going - just until the 31st.
The end of the year
is a hangover,
and there isn't a fry up big enough.
All it wants is to crawl into a photo album,
and sleep.
So when we put this year to bed
and we look towards the future,
we can remember the times
it ran and jumped
and cartwheeled in front of our eyes.
When the year was young.
We know each year,
must come to a close:
must make way for the next,
big, bold, sparkling Year.
But, for now, we shall put
this year to bed,
and head our letters
with new numbers.
around December time
the year becomes old, and
tatty around the edges.
It is written with reluctance.
It creeps around
hips creaking when it stands.
It drinks a dozen cups of coffee
each day of December,
to keep it going - just until the 31st.
The end of the year
is a hangover,
and there isn't a fry up big enough.
All it wants is to crawl into a photo album,
and sleep.
So when we put this year to bed
and we look towards the future,
we can remember the times
it ran and jumped
and cartwheeled in front of our eyes.
When the year was young.
We know each year,
must come to a close:
must make way for the next,
big, bold, sparkling Year.
But, for now, we shall put
this year to bed,
and head our letters
with new numbers.
