The Old Years gone, now served his time,
He slipped away on distant Chimes,
We met him when an Infant spawned,
Then to ageing bones the Seasons formed.
A bewildering thing, a puzzle of sorts,
The Hours he’s served and the change he’s brought.
One day his face a Worrisome frown,
Another day a cackling Clown.
At times a Midwife the Fount of all birth,
A moments breath to a Sexton’s Earth.
He was it’s said a strange old Soul,
A Capricious temper when truth is told.
His father taught him all he knew,
Those trials of life, those Straws we drew.
From rising Sun to Twilights fall,
Those hurdles faced, he laid them all.
So goodbye Old Year we knew you well,
Were you much Loved? -
Only the Reader may tell.
-
Author:
Kevin Hulme (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 12th, 2025 19:27
- Comment from author about the poem: Tried to finish this by New Year , but I was led up ‘Cul-de-sac’s’ and ‘Dead-Ends’ that I’m sure you all experience when writing a Poem.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 12
Offline)
Comments2
Ah, quite the late bloomer. Have a few of those in the back burner. But this one speaks of a year that wasn’t that bad, all things being considered. Certainly much better than the Covid years, at least in my opinion. 👍🏻🙏🏻🕊
Yes I know. A year is a Fickle Mistress. Thanks for reading.
Fickle indeed! You are welcome, Kevin 👍🏻🙏🏻🕊
Yeah, I hear you about dead-ends etc. A fine write.
Thank you.
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