Thursday, January 7, 2016

The Old Year’s gone away to nothingness and night:
We cannot find him all the day nor hear him in the night:
He left no footstep, mark or place in either shade or sun:
The last year he’d a neighbour’s face, in this he’s known by none.
All nothing everywhere: mists we on mornings see
Have more of substance when they’re here
And more of form than he.
He was a friend by every fire, in every cot and hall-
A guest to every heart’s desire, and now he’s nought at all.
Old papers thrown away, old garments cast aside,
The talk of yesterday, are things identified;
But time once torn away no voices can recall
The eve of New Year’s Day left the Old Year lost to all.
~John Clare

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