Earned Urns Poem by John Sensele

Twenty seventeen, welcome plenty,
Let three hundred and sixty five days and kindred
Bring singsong seventy
To lips and beeps that wed.

Twenty seventeen, take away empty
Promises and give grandsons
Ability and opportunity
To shine fine tonnes of suns.

Twenty seventeen, break away from inability
To love lads and lasses
Whose goodwill and sagacity
Shine mine brasses.

Twenty seventeen, tweak
Twists and turns
But may every week
Distil and fill to brims our earned urns.