I'm afraid the year will pass away,
leaving me to dig the annals' grave
with no moment spared to mourn; the day

elapses—in this we have no say—
its music reads like no earthly stave,
I'm afraid; the year will pass away

as the sun gives its last dying ray,
eye closing to the light we deprave,
with no moment spared to mourn the day

that has been lost; instead we will pay
for the sinful luxuries we crave.
I'm afraid the year will pass away,

leaving you and I here as we lay,
pairing each rant with a midnight rave.
With no moment spared to mourn the day,

we start over, renewed, come what may—
even the meek shall rise, feeling brave.
(I'm afraid.) The year will pass away,
with no moment spared to mourn the day.

TMK 8mar2010