Bright-eyed, enthusiastically announcing
The New Year rushes in.
It does not know,
Or does not care,
It is not the first year.
There is an Old Year who holds
Out the hand of memory,
Asking to be brought along,
Despite having rushed into our lives
Just as this visitor has done.
And I, at once caught up in the optimism
Of this excited time,
Look back to see my hand entwined with Old Year’s.
Sorry is what I am.
Sorry for being ready to dance again with yet another year.
Sorry I did not keep my promises to my last dance partner.
Sorry I must let go.
New Year has traced a heart in the frost,
Beckoning for me to hurry up,
Promising love just as Old Year once did.
I wonder if this will be the Year
I twirl and exhaust
So at its end it will be ready to rest.