A Last Dance Poem by Jonathan H. Scott

THE HOUR has come;
The year is through,
And what remains stares back at you.

You dare not wince;
It's all you've got.
The thing must be for more than naught.

You've toiled in vain
For all that's gold.
Now, what have you, but years grown old?

And, yet there's time.
You have the chance.
The music starts for one last dance.

To find what's Love
Is meant to be;
It's next to you—
Or across the sea.