2013A Poem by David Lewis PagetThis
year that creeps up on the clock Has
made no friend in me, It
holds the seeds of all that may Go
wrong, adversity. It
drips, just like a faulty tap Its
rhythm undisturbed, Creeps
up along our boundaries, May
not be stopped, or curbed. It
answers only to itself No
fee may slow its chant, Each
life bleeds slowly with each tick, Winds
down our covenant. I
thank the year that we have seen Pass
on, and all its gains, For
we survived, and live to tell Its
laughter, and its pains. But
this intruder, in its cloak Of
anonymity, Has
yet to put its stamp on us This
gross humanity. The
millions who will pass away Before
this year is done, Would
wish to halt it in its sway, Not
write it on their tomb. So
let us all assault this year With
hope and pride possessed, And
blunt its sting, with deeds and cheer Let
God decide the rest! David
Lewis Paget 31
December 2012 © 2012 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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