Of Faded Fronds

How faded is thy garment, love

Thy brow is white as snow

And tattered is that virgin glove

We donned a year ago

How paper-thin is thy embrace

We weighted with our fears

How weary is thy patient face

Scarred with kisses and tears

How lovely and how terrible

The life-stains that we pressed

Without thought, unalterable

Against thy patient breast

And where we, giddy with new dreams

Hailed thy arrival, dear

Soon we fell prey to ancient schemes

And mistreated you, Year

What once was raw and real and keen

With best intention crowned

Are faded fronds of what-has-been

Like shadows on the ground

Now, near the threshold where farewell

And greeting coalesce

Ah, we are love-torn by a swell

Of joy-grief tenderness

Yet still, the Gate of parting looms

At midnight’s sev’ring gong

The New Year waiting with its blooms

Compels us to be strong

© Janet Martin