Tuesday, December 27, 2011


Her name doth not bespeak her guild
Her countenance of mystery
Maiden, both tender and strong-willed
The fore-runner to history
Just one humble four-letter word
To sum a twelve-month portal
Of grief and healing, joy and hurt
Weaving her gown immortal
We ponder, as we tread upon
The remnant of her garment
Translucent threads from dusk to dawn
To dusk, soon will be dormant
With ardent hope we strain to see
The form of her successor
As this year follows faithfully
Her silent predecessor
And we, with sentimental tear
Murmur a farewell homage
She slips away, another Year
To history’s steadfast visage
Her bosom bears the moment where
We wept our bitter sorrow
Or yielded in a humble prayer
The dread of life’s tomorrow
She carries on her pallid lips
The echo of four seasons
And disappears, into the mist
As midnight tolls her leaving
With her she takes each tick of time
That formed her ethereal being
Away, into archaic climes
No eye beholds her fleeing
For we have turned with song and cheer
To greet a form untarnished
Behold, behold a virgin Year
Waits where the old has vanished



  1. Violet, I appreciate your kindness. Thank-you and may the year ahead be rich with blessing.
    May He be the one who guides our thoughts and pen...


Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!