Poem: The Last of The Year

The Last of The Year

All the days have been cowards,
slinking across the earth
with bellies to the ground,

as though they know
there is something about
that wishes harm,

but they are days.
How can it be
they are so frightened?

Note the trembling,
the shiver, the small pauses
to check surroundings,

the freezing.  Have you seen?
Have you noticed it too,
or is it not a thing

you pay attention too?
Maybe you have seen
the days in different light,

have not seen what I know.
It may be I am wrong,
am reading the wind with my nose

when too much pollen
has come along.  It may be
I am noticing only

because I wish to see
the world in one way,
to see a reflection

of what is here,
of how it has been.
It has been this,

has all been this.
Does it seem that way
or is it not the same?

If it is not, if it is
another way, it is only time
until things change again,

and maybe that
will bring it to this,
or maybe it will be

that it has changed
to be brighter, to bring
dawns that glow

with such a splendor
none of us can doubt
it is another day,

another type of day,
a type of other day,
a day when we can be 

as we have not been
on those other days,
on any of those other days.

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