The Last Of Last Year Poem by Frank Avon
The Last Of Last Year
December isn't
the end of the year;
we only pretend it is
because it's dark outside,
and we need to see the light.
December isn't
the end of the year;
that's March 25,
Lady Day.
For then the sun
has outrun itself
and shines
its exultation:
Feast of Annunciation,
and the crocus
blooms
even in the snow.
New Year's Day
is sometime in April -
we never know
exactly when
until it's past
and then, we know
it's another year
again: Resurrection!
And, at last, we see the light.
Good writing thanks, I also believe that December is not the last month.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/19/2024 6:34:09 PM # 1.0.0.1119
THE SUN HAS OUTRUN ITSELF AND SHINES IN EXALTATION. That is a wonderful image of the sheer exuberance of the natural world. Your poem makes us sensitive to another order of time - one governed not by the calendar as such but the epocal events that shape our perception of time. Whether one approaches them as archetypes or divine realities, they inform our life and make see things on a cosmic scale. I love that last image: IT'S ANOTHER YEAR AGAIN, RESURRECTION AND WE SEE THE LIGHT. WONDROUS VISION!