New Year’s Eve is here, but what’s the big deal?
Well, maybe it’s an artificial thing
But something about its effect is real
On the mind, on the conscience; there’s a sting
In the tail of each old year, a nagging
Of inner voices, scolding and austere
As previous plans, so grand, finish folding
And, so convenient, new ones appear
A time for reflection on your failure
For ever more hopeless hopes to reveal
Themselves like some distant mirage in spring
Glimpsed from winter’s cold desert long before
Their close-up emptiness; the shadows steal
Closer, but tonight, there’s celebrating
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