Tale Of The New Year. Poem by Kevin Hulme

The Old Year now is all set to depart, His bags now packed full of tales of despair. He's not the same soul that he was at the start, All youthful intent and a confident air. Now he's off to the realm where The Old Years lay their heads, That Valhalla for long days having been spun unto death. Here the Centuries tell tales of misery and dread, Like Old Lords in their Brandy filled drawling long breath. For each and every one claim the reward for being aggrieved, The course was well run to the end. But the procedure of man leaves one utterly bereaved, Though saplings of love could still move to amend. Now away at the door for the first foot to be laid, The New Year Stands alone with much ambition and heart. And Janus once again see's the Eve slowly fade, The Church Bells give notice, " you are done here so depart". And very soon the Child is born, Those days that house our lives. Where the act of just being with our Hopes to adorn, To live and to Love, To Conquer and to Strive. And as the Seasons pass along, Their statements duly made, His treads are firm and wilfully strong, but all duration is set to fade. And so to the Old Years whose Vigilance now kept, Have repaired a seat for The Rovers retreat, For unto the line his progress has crept, His duty now done his endeavour complete.